


Under The Shimmering Surface

by maps



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Blood, Blood Drinking, Bottom Louis, Car Accidents, Domestic Violence, Eating Disorders, Eventual Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Mind Control, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Self-Acceptance, Self-Discovery, Vampire Louis, Violence, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-16 18:11:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 61,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10576731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maps/pseuds/maps
Summary: Louis thinks back on his small house full of high-voltage little sisters and his messy bedroom and the neighborhood kids he’d play with when the summer nights ran long and he loved being hugged by the sun. His mind shifts to when he left, ran away and into the dark of night. His bloodlust and sex crazed life lit only by the stars and lonely moons in different phases as he skipped from one town to the next across the country.In hindsight, falling in love doesn’t sound so bad.aka the fic where louis is a self-indulgent vampire, harry is smart and stronger than louis knows, and Seattle is just the perfect mix of mystery and alcohol and home for the right kind of love to brew (or maybe that’s just the witch’s potions fogging up the sky)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this has a lot of possible triggers: mentions of blood, (sometimes detailed) mentions of violence, mentions of a character dealing with being molested as a child, a very brief mention of a failed suicide attempt, there is a lot of vomiting, mentions of bulimia, there are some instances with vampire mind control that have lasting effects on the character receiving it and could very well alter the person's feelings and thoughts regarding the vampire, mentions of addiction, and the consumption of alcohol. If there is something I missed and you started reading and something triggered you, feel free to let me know and I will mention it above so I can prevent that from happening again. 
> 
> I also want to say that I don't condone some of the things louis' character does, says, or thinks. Manipulation and abuse are 100% not okay. But he is a vampire who has lost everything--even his humanity. He doesn't share the same morals that he used to, so that's why he does what he does. But I think he learns that the way he used to live doesn't have to be the only way. 
> 
> With that being said, this fic is the first fic I've ever finished! like the first actually long fic i'd planned out, this is my first!! and it took me a long time to write because school and personal things, but it's done now! i am very very proud to have finished something after putting so much work into it!! also i want to share that my character named DJ is based off my dear friend mattie because they're both rockstars! anyway, i'm just excited!! have fun and enjoy vampire louis!!

.::.::.

New York City—Shadowed alleys and Central Park at night. The stars wink and blink and turn away from the blood and death below.

Washington DC—Theres the stench of temporary in the air here. Nothing seems right. The walls of an abandoned house are damp and hollow and stained. The first of the bodies are starting to decay.

New Orleans—Hitchhiking is easy when you’re not scared of being killed, or worse. The roads are long and hotels cheap with the power of Glamouring. There’s a trail of blood being made. What’s the point of a trail when the one making it doesn’t ever want to return to where it started?

Austin—The heat makes the blood taste different here. Like the way monsters are different in real life than they are in fairytales. This monster chooses to forget the voice that used to read him storybooks about fairies and flying and the talking stars. This monster doesn’t care about what it takes, as long as he can forget. As long as he gets what he wants.

Las Vegas—Two weeks is all it takes: the others invite him to their headquarters to both welcome and threaten him to not overstep on their territory. They offer him men or women, whichever he prefers. He accepts. They all become fast friends, killing for sport and feeding for fun.

San Francisco—Traveling the country never looks like this in magazines. No one ever talks about the places people go at night, alone with a monster with nothing but skin and fangs between them. With nothing but the need for blood in common. No one ever talks because no one ever lives to tell the tale. 

Seattle—is different. The air here smells strange. Cleaner. No place for a monster.

.::.

The grungy, home-townie feel of the place makes Louis shiver. The lingering scents of fish, flowers, and fruit drift down from the deserted Pike Place Market to where he walks aimlessly atop the ledge along the freeway. Cars honk at his assumed recklessness, but the fifty-foot drop down doesn’t phase him; he’s too awestruck by the glowing skyline, faded mountains glowing pink in the distance.

The sailboats rock at their docks down on Puget Sound. He looks to his right at the Space Needle, aglow, brighter now than the lingering wisps of sun on the horizon. A gentle breeze ruffles his hair, smelling of seaweed and salt and evergreen trees. It’s still early September, but he can sense the chill in the almost autumn air.

Walking back up to Victor Park, he notices he’s not the only one who shows up once the sun sets: there are resting bodies in various corners of the park, homeless humans oblivious to the horror walking a mere thirty feet away. He turns and walks through an empty Pike Place. He can already feel himself getting weaker from his last meal and that was only three days ago. At this rate, if he doesn’t feed soon, he’ll start shrinking, sinking in on himself. Just skin and hollow bones within months. He cringes at the thought of being so helpless. He never lets himself feel small. But he knows if he kills, some kind of internal clock starts ticking down the days until he has to leave again. He’ll have to run, just to find another place to run from after that. That’s what being a vampire is about. There’s no peace for him, not even lingering sunsets and early autumn winds can save him. There’s no such thing as “home,” anymore.

Louis walks up to a bar at random, and the bouncer at the door slides to the side to let Louis through with a curt nod after eyeing his I.D. It’s fake, but professionally done. He’ll have to get his documents changed again soon, he can’t keep playing the part of a twenty-something when he still looks eighteen. He’s heard of children Changing, though, so he guesses he doesn’t have it so bad. Forever a kid? He thinks of old stories and wonders if Hook had a legitimate reason for hunting the lost boys. Louis shakes away the childhood fairytales. They don’t belong in a place like his mind.

There’s a happy atmosphere in the stuffy room. Something about the hazy, booze-smelling air allows Louis to relax. A dark haired bartender is mixing drinks, laughing at something his coworker said, but stops when Louis motions for a drink. He buys two shots of Jack Daniels and a home-brewed IPA to chase them down as he surveys the throbbing crowd. 

Music is bumping through the speakers, but he can still hear everything: the scuff of dancing feet, the clink of ice in glasses, the panting breath from everyone moving and grinding to the music, and the beating of every heart in the building. Their hands grope and grab at each other's sweaty bodies, their smiles are wide as they mouth the words to their favorite songs. Their lives are so simple. They’re born, they’re broken, and then they die. He licks his lips.

He downs the rest of his beer and the churning of the carbonation reminds him that he needs to feed if he doesn’t want to have a stomach ache later. He joins the throng of people and notices a cute, dimple-cheeked dj sitting behind a table with a laptop and a mix board. He’s in a sweaty white v-neck t-shirt that accentuates the pulsing veins under the skin of his neck and chest, and his hair is in a messy bun atop his head. It bounces every time he nods his head to the beat. Louis can tell he’d shaved this morning but missed a spot near his right ear. Louis smiles at this, and gets distracted at the thought of what the guy’s hair would look like fanned out around his head on a pillow with strands stuck to the sweat on his face, at the thought of drinking from his neck. He can see it now, how his dark eye lashes will flutter around those green irises as he drifts off to a dreamland he’ll never wake up from. Louis swallows, closing his mouth, realizing too late that his fangs have sprung.

He makes his way across the room picking up another beer along the way, tongue teasing the tips of his fangs, to the man in question. The dj is working the crowd by feeding them different songs from his MacBook and mixing them live, and is wearing big headphones to better hear the beat without deafening himself. Distracted by the crowd and the music, he doesn't notice as Louis makes his way up behind him.

Louis leans back lazily against the dj’s desk and lifts one of the headphones from the his ear. “Hi, pretty boy.”

Louis can feel the rumble of the boy's chuckle, even through the music. To Louis' displeasure, he hardly glances in his direction, too entranced with the music and people.

“Hi?”

Louis scoots a little closer. He needs him to look him in the eyes. That’s all it takes.

“You know, I’ve always been a sucker for dimples.”

The stranger clears his throat, shaking his head with a smirk. Waves of scented shampoo and sweet blood waft across to Louis. He swallows hard, keeping his fangs hidden.

“Does your pretty mouth have a name?” Louis presses.

The dj shifts in his seat. Louis can tell he’s getting uncomfortable. It would all be so much easier if Louis could just take away his will, take him and control him. But he also likes it when they’re eager. Louis can tell this one has a fight in him.

“Uh, Harry.”

“Harry,” Louis repeats, taking a drag from his beer. The name sounds good on his tongue, in his mouth. Strong. Safe. It makes Louis feel weird. “I’m Louis.”

Louis puts out his right hand for Harry to shake. He sets the music on a loop and sits back in his chair, finally looking up from his computer. He takes Louis’ outstretched hand, although a little annoyed. “Hi, Louis.”

“So what time do you get off? I hear Alki Beach is gorgeous at night,” Louis says.

Harry narrows his eyes. “If you think we can go have a quickie on a beach after knowing each other for barely two minutes, you’re very wrong.”

Louis widens his eyes dramatically. “Who ever said anything about sex? I have a great eye for shooting stars, is all.” Which, isn’t a lie at all actually.

Harry turns back to his laptop and mix board. “Funny.”

Louis feels eyes crawling over his skin. He glances around the room, his own eyes dancing from one body to the next, until he sees him: the bartender. He’s squinting in their direction. Louis smiles and waves with just his fingers. The bartender doesn’t smile back.

Still looking across the room at the bartender, Louis leans down and whispers, “So when’re you off tonight?”

Harry shakes his head again, but his heartbeat jolts at the sound of Louis’ voice in either fear or arousal and Louis couldn’t care less to know for sure. “Not so fast, _pretty boy_ ,” Harry says with a nervous chuckle, stealing Louis’ own words.

One of the staff members gets the bartender’s attention and he’s caught in a short conversation. Louis looks down at Harry and his stomach rumbles as he lies: “No touching. I promise.”

“Hmm…” Harry thinks for a moment. Louis can tell he has reservations about going to a beach across town with someone he just met. And he should. Louis guesses he’s probably trying to think of a nice way to tell him no. Humans always try to be nice. It’s cute. Harry looks up and meets Louis’ gaze and that’s all Louis needs.

“ _Laugh like I said something funny, look down at your hands and then meet my eyes again,_ ” Louis begins, watching Harry’s pupils go wide before he does exactly what Louis tells him to. He says the rest in a rush to it isn’t obvious they’re making eye contact for too long. “ _You want to meet me at Alki Beach, but, if anyone asks, tell them you thought I came on too strong and you’re just going home after work. Make sure no one sees you leave, follows you, or knows where you’re going. You won’t remember me saying this to you, but you’ll have an overwhelming urge to meet me at Alki Beach when you get off work._ ”

Louis breaks eye contact. Harry blinks and turns back to his computer. “Hmm,” he says again, “Not sure if I can take you up on that offer tonight. Maybe some other time.”

“Okay.” Louis shrugs, nonplused. “Guess I’ll see you around sometime.”

Harry nods in a very unassuming way and puts his headphones back on. Louis doesn’t leave right away. He buys a few more drinks, flirts with a few more people, all to make it less suspicious when Mr. Harry doesn’t show up to work tomorrow. Louis knows the bartender saw him talking to the dj and he doesn’t want to be the first person to come to mind when Harry winds up missing. Storming out, clearly upset at not getting what he wanted, would be notable to someone. But staying and dancing with more people and even leaving with someone else would definitely deter him as a prime suspect. He combs the crowd for someone tasty to play with before dinnertime.

.::.

It’s three A.M. and Louis’s walking on a moonlit beach waiting to kill someone. The guy he left the bar with was boring and just wanted to fuck in his car and Louis didn’t want to ruin his appetite so he let him live. He took his wallet, though.

It’s nice by the water. Peaceful. Hardly anyone passes by on the main street, cars or pedestrians, and no one even sees him down by the water. The tide’s out and the sun’s whispers are long gone, sunk beneath the horizon. He’s nothing but a shadow among other shadows. Like usual. 

The waves are loud in the same way that silence is sometimes deafening. Louis listens to the water grinding the sand, further eroding the little stones to littler bits. There are TVs playing in the apartments along the main road: movies and television shows about things that don’t matter, entertaining people that will all eventually wither away and die. But not him. He flicks the ash off the cigarette that does nothing to calm his hunger the way they used to. Before he became immortal. He’d be twenty-five this year, if he still aged. Three months to the day.

He picks at the specs of dirt under his fingernails that only his eyes can see, and wonders how his mother is. He hasn’t been home as long as he’s been a vampire. Traveling across the country, hitchhiking from city to city, state to state. Always moving. He knows it killed her to come home to him gone and to later find his truck crashed on a back-country road. It feels so foreign to think about his family, so he chooses not to most of the time. It’s so odd to be watching the undertow lick the sand back to sea and thinking about his family while patiently waiting to bring a cute guy into the shadows to do with as he pleases before killing. As a vampire, you can’t kill people and want you mother to hold you after. You can’t have a family. It’s just not possible. And Louis knows that.

He hears a familiar heartbeat and the displacement of sand. But he doesn’t turn around.

“Hey,” Harry says, slightly out of breath. He had changed out of his sweaty shirt, Louis can smell, and put on a hoodie with a leather jacket on top. 

Louis turns, smiling. “Hi, Harry.”

He sees Harry glance at his cigarette with a grimace. “You know those are disgusting, right?”

Louis takes a drag. “They won’t be what kills me.” 

“Sounds like something my grandfather would say,” Harry says, kicking the sand, his hands in his jacket pockets. “He’s dead now.”

Louis doesn’t speak, knowing anything he says won’t change the fact that death is a very real reality for humans. He, of all people, knows that. So Louis lets the tiny embers burn down the length of the cigarette, leaving ash in its place, an imitation of the real thing. A figment. He snuffs it out on the sand. Harry nods and turns to walk along the water. Louis follows.

They walk in stride, Louis matching the pace of Harry’s legs. He’s intrigued by the sound his muscles make when they flex and relax, flex and relax. That, coupled with the lull of waves shushing sand, makes Louis almost want to walk here all night, reveling in this innocence, in the naivety of this human to walk beside him the dark.

Harry’s the first to speak. “It’s funny you wanted to come here, actually.”

“How so?” Louis asks.

Harry looks out across the water at the lights of the city reflected. They glow on his face with the blue light of the moon and Louis’ stomach grumbles. “I used to come here after my closing shifts all the time, right after he died—my grandfather. The city mirrored on the water helped me think. Process.”

He pauses for a long time, thinking. Louis listens to the sound of Harry’s eyes as they move, listens to the sound of erosion, of water on rocks, blood in veins. He almost thinks that Harry is done speaking, but something in his breath tells him otherwise.

“I used to think the light on the water was like an alternate universe, waving and moving and morphing right in front of me, just out of reach. But there.”

Louis considers this. “And that comforted you?”

There’s a trace of a smile on Harry’s face and a lilt in his pulse as he answers, “Yeah. Yeah it did. It does.”

Louis imagines it: another world that no one knows is there, shimmering just under the surface, no one believing in it until it’s too late. He likes that look of realization in people’s eyes when he’s seconds away from stealing everything from them. It’s the look of a lifetime of fairytales and mythic legends flooding their minds at the sight of his fangs. They look him in the eyes and know that that shimmering world has been there all along, only it is tangible, real, and vicious. And hungry.

They come to the edge of the sand and there’s a small patch of deciduous trees that lead to houses with yards and families sleeping soundly inside. Louis motions for them to sit together. With their backs agains bark, Louis takes it upon himself to wrap Harrys arm around his shoulders. He leans into Harry, taking in the warmth of his smell. 

Harry laughs. “Are you sniffing me?”

Louis answers unabashedly. “Yeah.” He nuzzles his neck, feeling the veins throb under his nose.

Harry giggles, tickled by Louis’ nose. “I have to admit,” he says through laughs, “I’ve never been sniff-tickled on a first date before.”

Louis laughs, despite himself. “Wait, this is a date?” Louis asks, to which, Harry rolls his eyes.

He rests his head on Harry’s shoulder, watching Harry’s eyes crinkle with his smile, tracing the tips of his fangs with his tongue. Harry’s arm holds him a bit tighter. He glances down at Louis with a strange look in his eyes. His right hand cups Louis’ face and he tilts his head to kiss him. And Louis lets him, opening his mouth to Harry’s tongue. After a few moments, Harry jolts back.

“What the fuck?” Harry brings a hand to his mouth, it comes away wet with blood that looks black under the shadow of the trees. He looks up at Louis, confused. Louis smiles, showing off his fangs.

Harry pushes him, scooting back in the leaves, trying to get away. Louis laughs and is on him in the time it takes Harry to blink. Louis holds Harry’s arms down above his head with one hand. He leans down and kisses Harry, sucking gently on the small cut his fangs made on Harry’s inner lip. Harry jerks his head away, body squirming under Louis’ grip. 

Harry glares up at him. “If you’re going to kill me, just do it already.”

Louis pouts. “But honey, don’t you want to play first?”

“No.”

Louis shrugs. “Okay.” 

He leans down, sinks his fangs into Harry’s neck, and drinks. His blood tastes sweet with alcohol and reminds Louis of the summer sun. Sucking deep, he feels Harry’s blood warming his body from the inside out. Images of Harry flood his mind. Harry, running in cut-off jean shorts, skateboarding down a neighborhood hill with a smile on his sun-kissed face. Harry running and jumping, arms and legs splayed, off a dock and into still lake water. Harry, too good for him.

Louis thinks he hears a branch snap or a leaf crunch. He lifts his head to look around, blood dripping down his chin. He listens for a heartbeat, but there’s no other sound, so he turns his attention back to the half-dead human under him. With leaves in his hair and moonlight shifting down through the tree branches, Harry whimpers. Louis has drank a lot of his blood, enough to kill but not enough to satiate his hunger. 

Harry’s breath slows, his fists are limp. He knows it won’t take much longer. But he can still see images of sun in his mind, and he doesn’t know why or how. He doesn’t have to imagine how Harry’s hair would look in sunlight, because he knows how the strands glow gold at just the right angle. He doesn’t have to guess at how his eyes shine when he laughs. Now, the strands of Harry’s hair are black and discarded, the moon no match for the relentless sun. His eyes, dim and dull and out of focus. His lips are more purple than pink, his heartbeat is slow and staggered. His eyelids relax, and slowly close.

Louis has never seen the memories of his meals before. Never in the last seven years. He’s still hungry, but he’s more curious to find out _why_. He can feed from someone else. Louis bites his palm open and dribbles a few drops of his own blood between Harry’s lips. He’s confused and doesn’t know if it’ll work, but he has learned to go with his gut feelings. “Harry, I need you to drink. Can you do that for me?” 

Harry’s eyes don’t move under his lids, his breathing shallower still. Louis holds him in his arms. He picks out the leaves from his hair and listens to his heart’s weak beating. Louis bites his palm again, this time digging his fingertips into the cut to draw more blood. He misses Harry’s mouth before he presses his hand directly to Harry’s lips and the accidental drops shine dark against his white skin.

Louis takes back his hand. The sound of Harry’s heart is stronger now, more alive, there’s color in his cheeks again, and the fang marks are now scars on his neck, growing fainter by the second until they’re gone. Harry murmurs and licks his lips. His eyebrows furrow. Louis retracts his fangs and wipes the last of Harry’s blood from his mouth and chin just in time before Harry’s eyelids flutter open.

His eyes search Louis’ face in the dark. “What happened? Why do I taste blo-” He stops abruptly, his memory coming back to him. 

Before he can do anything, Louis gently grabs Harry’s face, looking him in the eyes, saying, “ _You don’t remember what happened just now._ ”

Harry’s pupils grow as wide as his irises, his jaw slack. “I don’t remember.… What just happened?”

_“We had a very pleasant night walking along the beach. I laughed at your jokes, and we kissed under this oak tree.”_

“Tonight’s been so nice.” Harry sighs, smiling up at Louis.

“That’s right, it has, hasn’t it?” Louis brushes Harry’s hair back, still maintaining eye contact. But he’s distracted and doesn’t know what just happened. _“Now, you’re going to go home and shower, and you’re not going to think twice about the blood on your clothes, ok? You tripped and fell and cut your lip. It’s your blood.”_

Harry nods. “I think I should head home soon to shower. My lip hurts.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Louis breaks the Glamour and Harry’s expression reverts to how it was before—before Louis almost killed him, before they kissed, before Louis saw Harry’s memories.

Harry glances around. “Hey, um, it’s been great and all, but why are you holding me like a baby? I barely even tripped.”

Louis smiles, but let’s go of him. Harry stands and offers Louis a hand. Taking it, Louis says, “Whatever. You totally almost passed out.”

Harry barks a fake laugh. “Right. And you bit your own hand off.”

Louis doesn’t show it, but he’s surprised for a moment. He’s scared his Glamour didn’t work completely. That’s never happened before, either. He wipes dried blood from his palm.

They walk across the sand back to Harry’s car without speaking. Harry opens the door to his car, but stays standing. Louis sets his elbows on the thin metal, resting his head on his forearms. 

Harry looks down. “I had a great time tonight, Louis.”

“Me too,” Louis says, which isn’t the complete truth. He fed and the conversation wasn’t exactly boring, but he feels uneasy. He shouldn’t have seen Harry’s memories. He should have killed him. He’s ashamed and confused and not okay.

Harry leans in and kisses Louis on the cheek in a quiet way. It’s so soft, so much more intimate than their earlier kiss. But maybe that’s because Louis isn’t trying to kill him this time. “We should hang out again.”

Louis doesn’t know if Harry’s endearment is the Glamour talking, or if Harry actually wants to see him again of his own free will. Now, Louis will never know. Maybe it’s better that way. He’s always preferred mysteries over romances, anyhow.

Louis nods. He smiles, but doesn’t show his teeth. “I’d like that,” he says. “Number?”

Harry holds out his hand for Louis’ phone, which he hands over. The glow from the screen lights up his face in the dark and Louis sees the scars he just made on Harry’s neck, the gleam of them only visible to his eyes. Harry hands back the phone. Louis glances down and Harry had put an ocean wave emoji by his name. Louis smiles up at him. “I’ll text you.”

At that, Harry smiles so wide it touches his eyes, sinks his dimples deep. He closes his door and drives off, not looking back. Louis listens to his heartbeat fade with the distance growing between them. The lack of sound leaves his ears searching for something to grasp onto. He listens to the snores in the apartments complexes on the other side of the road, to the refrigerators buzzing in the many beach-front restaurants, to the waves singing fake salvation. They’re not comforting, anymore. 

He stares out across the sand and rippling water, lighting another cigarette, unable to shake the feeling that maybe letting Harry live was a mistake.

.::.::.

He had had enough money saved from his brief bartending gig in Portland to put a deposit on a cute studio apartment above a twenty-four hour cafe, which was kind of a perfect coincidence. He wouldn’t normally waste his time and money staying in an apartment, but he’s just fucking tired of sleeping in abandoned houses. Plus, the situation kind of just fell into his lap, and he’s not one to let an opportunity pass him by. He _did_ Glamour Denise—a woman in her late twenties who doubles as his landlady and owner of the cafe—into giving him the studio and a job as the night server/host, though so maybe he put this particular situation in his lap rather than it falling by accident. He’s always believed in not letting his potential go to waste; if he has the means, well, he’s going to take what he wants.  
It’s his first shift in the cafe, but it’s a slow night. Denise is an amazing cook, so Louis hears, and she usually brings in a hungry crowd. Denise told him that students usually come here to study while they eat or they come as a break from homework. But tonight it’s just Louis and Denise.

“Louis, you’ve already swept twice in five minutes.” Denise is standing at the cash register, elbows resting on the counter. Her apron is untied and she swirls a spoon in her hot chocolate with an index finger. He’s anxious, which is odd. He just keeps thinking about how he should have just killed Harry. He needs to eat and cute faces never stopped him before. He understands there is a food chain, and he is at the top. Would a lion ever hesitate to kill a zebra or a gazelle? Louis doesn’t think so. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him.

“I have an eye for detail, Miss Denise. An eye for detail.” 

“Apparently,” she replies, but he can hear the smile in her voice. “And could you please stop calling me Denise? It’s godawful.”

Louis looks up, a question in his eyes.  
“DJ is more than fine.” 

“Duly noted,” Louis replies. He smirks, thinking of Harry standing in front of his laptop and dancing crowd, dj-ing away. He listens to the sounds of her spoon clinking on ceramic, of the bristles on the floor, of the difference her heart is to Harry’s, and it’s all its own kind of music.

Louis can tell she’s watching him. He sweeps up the pile of dirt into a dustpan and brings it to the garbage can beside the counter. Her eyes still on his back.

“You look hungry.” DJ sips her coco. “Let me cook something up for you.”

Louis taps the dustpan against the inner rim of the garbage can, resisting the urge to laugh. He’s never had to learn first hand how far he’d really have to go to make “acting” human actually believable. Back at his job in Portland, no one cared if he was eating. No one’s ever been around to watch him closely like this. Which is unfortunate, because he’s never gone longer than a few days without blood, and it hasn’t even been a week since the night at the beach. Accepting DJ’s offer would make things easier, even if only to keep her off his back for a while, even if only he can seem more human until he feeds again. Until he gets some answers so he can get on with his life.

He turns around, smiling. “Is that supposed to be an insult to my figure?” He sashays his hips twice before stowing the broom in its proper corner by the kitchen door.

DJ doesn’t answer for a moment. Louis can tell she thinks he’s avoiding something. He imagines how far off her imagination is from the truth. “Something like that, yeah,” she says. She sips her hot chocolate again. One of her overall straps is almost falling off a shoulder and her white long-sleeved shirt is the only thing keeping it from tipping down to her bent elbow. She pushes a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

Louis laughs pretending he can’t feel the tension in the air. “Is there any chowder left?” he asks, even though he can smell it simmering in the back of the kitchen. DJ smiles, nodding, as the bell above the door jingles and two regulars (according to DJ) walk in. They’re University of Washington students, Louis can tell by their sweatshirts. One is a tall, female with straight hair and the other is male with a dark beard and curly hair to match. 

DJ waves a distracted hand at them before disappearing into the kitchen, leaving the door swinging. Louis wipes his hands on his apron. He pulls out his order pad and tries to smile, but the breeze from both doors sends a shiver down his spine. 

“Hey, guys. Hows it goin’?”

The two students answer simultaneously. “Good.” “It’s goin’.” They share a look, then giggle.

Louis smiles. “What can I get for you?”

“We’ll just have two cappuccinos for now,” the male says, not glancing at the menu Louis had handed him. He’s wearing an oddly shaped crystal ring. Louis doesn’t normally notice jewelry, but it looks beautiful against his dark skin.

“Roger that.”

He has the two customers their cappuccinos within minutes. They smile and he watches from the counter as they take their first sips. He’s proud at their approval, but not too surprised—he picks things up really easy. Earlier in his shift, DJ showed him how to make all the coffee drinks the espresso machine could make. The lesson left him knowing how to make anything a customer could ever ask for—and too many dirty coffee mugs to wash, scattered across the countertop. 

DJ backs out of the kitchen, using her butt to push open the door. Her hands are preoccupied, holding a tray with four steaming bowls of chowder. She puts two bowls on the bar counter and the other two she brings to the two students. When she returns, she shrugs in answer to Louis’ questioning look. 

“Old friends,” she says.

She blows on her chowder. Louis does the same, reminding himself to do that more often. Since he heals almost as instantly as he is hurt, he doesn’t think much about something so trivial as blowing on hot soup. Or biting open his palm. He takes a bite and tries not to gag.

DJ nods to the only two customers in the shop. “I’m impressed. They’re both kind of coffee snobs.”

Louis shrugs. “I had a good teacher.”

“Kiss ass.” She takes a few bites before asking, “So what’s your story?”

Louis lets out a huff of air. “That’s a complicated question.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” She glances up as she blows on her next spoonful. “Pretend it’s not your life. Someone else’s story.”

Surprisingly, that helps. Louis thinks back on his small house full of high-voltage little sisters and his messy bedroom and the neighborhood kids he’d play with when the summer nights ran long and he loved being hugged by the sun. His mind shifts to when he left, ran away and into the dark of night. His bloodlust and sex crazed life lit by only the stars and lonely moons in different phases as he skipped from one town to the next across the country. 

“Well, Louis was born in Moose River, Maine, where the only thing to do for fun was to go to the reservoir and walk along the abandoned train tracks and wonder how bad it’d hurt to fall from so high up, or smoke cigarettes and loiter at the town grocery store. He had four little sisters who were fucking insane most of the time, but amazing nonetheless. His mom was an absolute rockstar and he hadn’t seen the ocean until he left home after dropping out of high school.”

“See,” she says, with a smile. “Not so hard.”

Louis scoffs. He pushes his chowder around as if he’s deciding what bite he wants next.

DJ watches him stir his chowder. “What made you choose Seattle?”

He takes a bite, forcing himself to swallow the lumps of clam and potato without chewing it. It’s better all at once. “Honestly? It’s kind of incredible here. The studio, the cafe, the whole city. So different from Moose River.” He wants to say that staying here, renting an apartment, is all so different from the last seven years of his life. But he doesn’t.

“And different is good?”

“Different is definitely good.” He can’t tell if he’s lying or not.

“What happened to your family?”

Louis blinks. “What?”

“You used past tense when speaking about them.”

He’s thrown off by her directness. He hadn’t even noticed he’d used past tense, but it makes sense in his mind. His family isn’t his anymore. They can’t be.

“I knew they wouldn’t be accepting of me being gay, so I left.” It’s not a complete lie, but it’s not the truth either. He never did come out to them. “It’s easier to pretend they aren’t out there, _being_ , you know? _Present-tensing_ somewhere. So I pretend.”

“What about Louis? What happened to him?”

He watches the steam rise off DJ’s bowl. “He… he was naive, you know? So caught up in trivial shit all the time, on things that didn’t matter. I’m not him, not anymore.”

“Do you miss him?”

Louis looks her in the eyes. “No.”

DJ nods and doesn’t push further. “Okay well eat your damn chowder; it’s the best in the city and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Louis smiles, coming to the conclusion that he likes her.

.::.::.

His apartment is in a salmon-colored haze. It’s too late for him to be awake and the sun is too bright, even through the dark red tapestries covering the skylights. He almost didn’t pick this place because of them, but it came fully furnished and he doesn't have to leave the building to go to work. He has his own bed and the windows are easily covered. It’s all kind of perfect. At least for now. And the rats in the ceiling make it hard to sleep, but it was all too good to be true, so it makes sense.

His phone beeps from across the room and Louis realizes that’s what woke him up. He gets up and walks the short distance to the kitchen. When he sees it’s just an email from his boss telling him his new schedule for the week, his face falls. He doesn’t know why expected a text from anyone. He yawns, dragging his feet back to his bed. He has another shift tonight at the cafe and wants to be well rested beforehand. 

He lays down, closing his eyes, but the light from behind the tapestries keeps him up. He vows to buy one of those sleeping masks one of these days. He imagines sleeping in a coffin like the myths always said. The thought makes him laugh. Now that he has one, he couldn’t live without his bed—that is, if he was living to start. He’s glad the apartment came furnished because he still doesn’t have any sheets or blankets because he doesn’t see the need for them. He never gets cold and he doesn’t need the security blankets used to give him.

Louis yawns again. He misses the rest he used to get, when he would dream. He never dreams anymore. He flips through the weather app, looking at when the sun will set today. He checks his texts, too, even though he knows he doesn’t have any or anyone to talk to. Thumbing through his contacts aimlessly, he stops on Harry’s. He knows if he texts Harry, he won’t be able to erase the trace of himself from Harry’s phone—technology always leaves its mark. It makes him sad, in a way, because Harry’s blood tasted sweeter than the sun and Louis doesn’t know if anything is worth giving that up. He knows it won’t last long, whatever happens between them. It can’t. It shouldn’t take too long to figure out why he saw what he saw. Memories that weren't his, memories that weren’t possibly a coincidence.

After losing track of the minutes he stares at Harry’s phone number, Louis finally gives in. He texts, asking Harry out to dinner sometime this week, reminding himself that this will be solely about figuring out what’s going on. Harry replies after eight minutes and fifty-two seconds, saying he’d love to hang out, but only if he can cook. Louis agrees, and smiles despite himself at the emojis Harry chooses to depict the meal he’ll prepare. They agree on Wednesday at Louis’ place, cause that’s Louis’ night off and Harry has roommates. Louis yawns and covers his eyes with his arms, resting his phone on his chest. He falls asleep some time later, with the promise to go buy human stuff before Wednesday to make his apartment look more “livable.”

.::.::.

It’s the first day that actually feels like autumn and Seattle is absolutely beautiful. Already October and the trees lining the roads in Capitol Hill have started to turn: greens burnt to orange and yellow. The contrast with the grey sky is kind of amazing. He’s glad for the cloud cover the Pacific Northwest offers, although, the stories of constant rain are pretty far-fetched. It’s more of a mist, more often than not. Not a downpour like he always heard. Not like the sudden storms the East Coast had to offer.

It’s this type of weather that Louis loves most because it means he can attempt to leave his tiny apartment before dusk. He doesn’t look out of place with a big coat, gloves, scarf, and a hat on. The only thing that’s odd is his choice of sunglasses, but it’s still too bright for him to bare without them. Luckily, the sun sets early in the fall and all throughout winter, and it’s dark by four in the afternoon. It’s three-thirty and he’s on his way to make his apartment more livable, and, since he is no longer living, he needs some extra help.

Once he gets inside Westlake Center, he takes off his sunglasses and shoves them in his coat pocket. He meanders through the mall, up and down the escalators looking for a store that has what he needs. There are already workers decorating the railings with garland and pumpkins and Louis imagines what this place will look like throughout the coming months, when it’s fully bathed in autumn colors, in turkeys and faux leaves, in reds and greens and mistletoe. He imagines Harry here under the fading light from the glass dome four stories above him and sighs.

Deciding the mall is only making him nostalgic and hungry, Louis ventures back outside. By now, the sun has set and the temperature has dropped, scattering the shoppers early. He walks a few blocks before he sees it, his savior in the form of a chain-store: Bed Bath and Beyond. Inside, the lights are too bright and there’s too much whiteness. He feels uncomfortable in such starch cleanliness; he’s never been one to like that kind of thing. Definitely not hospitals. Especially now, when he can see what the florescent lights hide for human eyes: all the dirt and grime caked in the cracks and all the bleach and paint used to make this place appear modern and clean.

He walks with his cart to the bedroom section, deciding that’s a good enough place to start as any. He walks slowly through the isles of sheets not knowing if he should buy silk or cotton or fleece, not to mention what colors to choose. He’s deciding between a deep red or a black, in silk because he decides he doesn’t like sleeping on cotton because he’ll feel all the fibers in it and it’ll make him itch. He ends up picking the red and gets a fluffy down comforter with a white velvet cover. 

He heads to the kitchen section next to pick out a few dishes, a set of silverware, and some bar stools for his kitchen counter. He meanders through the isles looking for things humans might buy. He ends up collecting an array of random things: hanging baskets for fruit, a spice rack, and a tea kettle because he thinks the smell of tea might still be as soothing to him as it used to be.

By the time he gets to the bath section, the lights are starting to hurt his eyes. He glances at his phone. He’s been shopping for nearly an hour and he hadn’t even noticed. The cart’s wheels grind against their axis, the sound is harsh in his ears, and other shoppers’ rubber soles squeak on the linoleum. He’s starting to regret ever coming to this place to begin with. It’s fucking pointless to buy this shit anyway and now he has a terrible headache. 

He’s trying to pick between two toilet papers, wondering which would be the better fit for a twenty-something year old single guy. His headache from the lights is distracting to the point he’s literally weighing which pack of eight rolls feels more dense, more for the price, because he can’t make a decision with his brain right now. His senses are more than capable.

Someone approaches, but Louis just assumes it’s another customer and doesn’t pay them any attention. Until they speak.

“Hey man, can I help you with anything?” asks a guy around Louis’s would-be age. Louis glares at him. He’s wearing dark jeans and a black v-neck t-shirt with a blue vest over it. His name tag reads, Hello, my name is Liam! He has a walkie-talkie hooked to his hip and a bluetooth ear piece lodged in his ear. Other managers on the opposite end of the connection are talking numbers, how much labor they can afford for next week, this week’s projected sales as compared to next week’s, but the guy in front of him ignores the endless chatting, smiling at Louis. 

Liam’s walkie-talkie shrieks and there’s a high-pitched frequency Louis knows human ears can’t register. He cringes. “No,” he says, wanting to get this shopping trip over with. He turns away.

The employee lingers. “I know it’s probably a stressful time for you; I went through it recently myself.”

Louis turns back to him. He glares. There’s no way this idiot knows what he’s going through. “What?”

“My girlfriend just recently moved in with me and I had to upgrade my apartment, too. It was ridiculously expensive, let me tell you.”

Louis frowns. “I’m buying this for myself?” he says, which isn’t exactly the truth but, god, his head is pounding so he doesn’t really care. The squeaks of peoples’ shoes on the linoleum are becoming more annoying by the second. Don’t humans know how to pick up their feet when they walk? “Honestly, I could do without this pointless chit-chat. Go heckle someone else, Liam.”

Liam’s heartbeat speeds up in reaction to Louis’ rudeness. Louis turns around throwing the cheaper pack of toilet paper in his cart, which is nearly full by now and he knows he doesn’t have the money to pay for all of it. He’ll just Glamour a discount out of the cashier, he decides. He hears Liam clear his throat and slowly back away before turning on his heel and walking quickly away, voices still speaking in his headset.

Louis puts on a smile when he reaches the cashier. He’s good at faking it when he needs to. He convinces the cashier he had store credit due to multiple returns in the last thirty days. When she shows confusion, Louis catches her eyes with his.

“ _I wasn’t happy with my purchases a couple weeks ago, so I returned them for store credit. Don’t you remember? You laughed at my joke even though it wasn’t funny and you made my entire day._ ”

Her face goes slack, pupils as wide as possible. She smiles, but her eyes don’t crinkle like they should. “Oh, right. The store credit. I remember now.”

Louis smiles, remaining eye contact. “ _Yeah, that’s right, love. I think it should just about cover all this?_ ” He gestures to all the bags on the small counter.

The cashier nods. “Yes, of course. It’s covered.”

“Ah,” Louis exclaims, breaking eye contact to gather up his bags. His cashier’s expression returns to normal, and her eyebrows furrow. “Have a great night, love,” Louis says as he turns to walk out the door, easily carrying all of his purchases.

When she responds, she sounds lost. “You too?”

.::.::.

Louis wakes to the intercom buzzing. He glances at his phone. It’s already four in the afternoon, and there’s only the tiniest glow showing through his tapestries. Throwing the blankets off of him, he shuffles to the door.

“Hello?” he says, holding the button with the microphone icon. He closes his eyes, leaning his head against the wall. He’s definitely feeling the lull he gets when it’s past the time to feed again. Eight days. He sighs.

It’s DJ on the other end. “There’s a young man here to see you. Long hair, gorgeous legs.”

Louis groans. “Already?” Good thing he was bored yesterday and straightened up his apartment, finding appropriate places for all his new _human_ things.

“I heard that!” Harry says, sounding far away and fuzzy. But smiling.

DJ laughs. “Should I wait to send him up, then?”Louis swallows. “No, no. Up he comes,” he says and releases the intercom button, letting out a huff of air. “Shit.”

He throws on a tee shirt and straightens the blankets on his bed before he hears the elevator ding down the hall. Louis wishes he had a dirty cereal bowl or something to make it look like this place is lived-in. But he doesn’t. He hopes Harry doesn’t look in his pantry because he’ll see there’s no food and a recycle bin full of newly opened boxes and plastic film from his shopping spree.

He’s standing on his tiptoes, eye against the peephole, when Harry steps out of the elevator holding a brown paper bag under one arm. Louis yawns again, not excited to pretend again. Despite it all, he opens the door with a smile just before Harry’s knuckles hit the wood. He doesn’t know how, but he relaxes at the sight of Harry’s little dimples. “Harry,” Louis says, leaning against the door with sleepy eyes. 

Harry lowers his hand. “Lou.” Louis watches as Harry takes in his bare feet, his baggy sweats and tee shirt, and his messy hair. He wonders how much of the endearment in Harry’s eyes is real and how much is the Glamour clouding his mind. “You just woke up,” Harry says. 

Louis nods in answer, stepping aside to let him through. 

“Then you must be hungry.” Harry wiggles his eyebrows up and down and moves into the kitchen. He ruffles a hand through his hair.

Louis takes his time closing the door, not wanting his expression to give away that he’s not at all excited to eat whatever Harry’s about to prepare. He clears his throat. “Famished,” he says, resting his palm on his tummy as he turns around.

Harry is already setting the contents of the brown bag on the counter. Raw shrimp, green onions, cilantro, onions, garlic, some different peppers, a couple potatoes, quinoa, olive oil, soy sauce, and a bottle of red wine. Louis plops on a barstool not letting himself think about how good Harry’s blood smells in comparison to every other bland thing in the room.

“What, are you a chef or something?” Louis asks. He’s mesmerized by how gentle Harry’s hands fold the paper bag.

“I’m leaning towards ‘or something.’” Louis laughs and watches Harry rearrange the groceries on the counter. He turns to the cupboards, giving Louis a look that reads, May I? Louis nods. “But no, I just really like cooking. Believe it or not, I _don’t_ want to work at a bar my whole life.”

He moves on from the first cupboard after finding it empty, and onto the next. Louis had only bought two bowls, two plates, a handful of silverware, some mason jars, and a couple of pots and pans which all only took up about one and a half cupboards and half of a drawer. The rest of his kitchen cabinets are completely empty. “You don’t do much cooking, do you?” Harry asks.

Louis shrugs. “Not really. DJ from downstairs is pretty cool. Let’s me eat for free.” 

Harry shakes his head, finally reaching the cabinet with the pans. He grabs one, set’s it on the stove, and turns the burner on low.

Louis absently rubs his arms even though he’s not cold, and watches Harry pour a little olive oil in the pan. He chops up the onions and peppers, adding them next. Louis thinks Harry’s hands look big, juxtaposed with the tiny cloves of garlic as he peels off their rough paper skin. He laughs to himself about the myth that vampires avoid garlic like the plague. It’s a joke, really. It can’t kill him, he knows. The most harm it’ll do is make Harry smell less appealing. Louis considers this, thinking that might be for the better. He licks his lips.

“So, Chef Harry, what’s being served tonight?”

Harry straightens up from mincing the garlic. “Well,” he says, mimicking a French accent (albeit, terribly), “tonight we will be ‘aving shrimp stir fry paired with zis robust _et_ cultivated-” he drops the accent, “-four dollar bottle of wine.”

Louis smiles, still holding his arms across his chest, and almost wishes he could enjoy whatever this boy is making for him. Almost.

Not too long later, they’re sitting side-by-side at the kitchen bar with two beautifully plated dinners sitting before them and wine in mason jars. Harry even drizzled some of the sauce over the plates like an actual professional. Louis has half a mind to be impressed.

“Wait, so all that you said earlier was a joke, right?” Louis says. He holds his fork in his hand, not wanting to disrupt the pretty food. “You probably work for, like, Chef Ramsey or something.”

Harry laughs and Louis hears blood rush to his cheeks. Louis smiles at the soft, subtle sound of Harry blushing. He focuses extra hard to keep his fangs hidden.

“It’s just a hobby.” He shrugs and sips his wine. He motions for Louis to take a bite. So, he does. Harry waits for his response, fork and knife poised in his hands. It’s not, well, good, and the shrimp is pretty chewy but all food is chewy to him now so he can’t really hold that against Harry. Honestly, it’s not overwhelmingly bad comparatively. He closes his eyes, thinking of Harry’s blood for the reaction to seem genuine, and groans in a satisfied way. When he opens his eyes, Harry’s face is smug.

Louis chews for what seems like way too long, and swallows hard. “Harry, you should seriously do something about this.”

Harry glances sideways at him. “What, my cooking?”

Louis nods. He’s learning wine is a great chaser for food, these days. “Your talents are wasted on little old me.” He meant it like a joke, but as he’s saying it, he realizes a part of him believes it. A part of him, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant, believes that there’s something out there for Harry. Something real and tangible. Something more than whatever he can give him. Because, if he’s being honest, Louis knows how these kind of stories end. It’s just startling because he never wanted to give Harry anything at all.

“I can’t imagine anything being wasted on you, Louis.” 

Louis meets Harry’s eyes at such an admission. He isn’t sure if he should dispute it, thank him, or explain to Harry how there are so many things and places and morals he used to uphold as true and real and worthy, that are now… nothing to him. He wonders what it would be like if the old Louis could have met Harry back then, before his life turned to night. He thinks something real could have happened, then. But he’s not who he used to be. So, instead of wasting the breath to reply, Louis offers a small smile and takes another slimy bite.

.::.

“Can I use your bathroom?” Harry asks.

They’ve just finished eating, and Louis’ stomach feels uneasy. The vibrations of the rats’ claws scratching above in his ceiling are giving him a headache.

“Course.” Louis points to a door on the other side of the small kitchen. “It’s just through there.”

Louis sighs as Harry closes the bathroom door, and sets their plates in the sink for him to wash later. He makes a mental note to make bathroom trips every couple hours, adding it to the growing list of Things To Do To Seem Human. He’s realizing now that he didn’t think all this through before letting Harry live. He should have just killed him when he had the chance. Now too many people know Harry has a connection to him and if he disappears… it’ll only be a matter of time until the police will come with questions. Louis’ long history of town-hopping and leaving just when people started to go missing wouldn’t help, either. So he can’t risk it, but now he’s risking Harry finding out everything all because he didn’t think before he acted. He never does. He's brash and spontaneous and selfish. And that’s never bothered him before.

He buries himself under his duvet. He _could_ just tell Harry he’s no longer interested, that he doesn’t want to see him. Or he could Glamour him into leaving. He doesn’t _have_ to go through all this trouble just to keep a secret. But then he’ll never understand why he saw Harry’s memories that night. He won’t have the chance to figure it out, and Louis knows he has a right to know why.

The sound of Harry opening the bathroom door is jarring in the almost-quiet. Louis sighs again and concentrates on not concentrating on the sound of Harry’s heartbeat. He listens as Harry pauses for a moment before he, as Louis assumes, sees the lump Louis’ body makes under the covers. Louis listens as his socked feet make the floor groan and he wonders if Harry can hear it too. 

“Lou, if my food was that bad you can just tell me, you know.” Harry says, sitting on the edge of the bed. Louis can tell he’s smiling.

“Dinner was wonderful, I’m just-,” Louis’ stomach gurgles in a gross, angry way. Like his body is mad it didn’t get the nutrients it wanted, “-tired.”

There’s confusion in Harry’s voice. “You just woke up.”

“I worked graveyard.” Louis says this like it’s abnormal, like that’s the reason he’s exhausted—not the fact that his stomach hurts from the food he can’t digest and that he hasn’t fed for nearly two weeks—longer than the longest he’s ever gone without feeding. He’s never been truly hungry for more than a couple hours; he’s always fed whenever he felt the urge. So he doesn’t know why he hasn’t hunted yet.

Harry is quiet for a minute. “I can just, go. Or something.”

Louis reaches a hand out of the blankets to find one of Harry’s limbs. His hand lands on Harry’s arm and pulls soft. “I’m leaning towards ‘or something.’” He thanks his acute spacial awareness as he hears Harry smile.

Under the blankets, Louis can see Harry’s face perfectly—better than in the light. He watches as Harry’s eyes struggle to adjust, his pupils huge. Louis sometimes thinks that his advanced sight is detrimental, because he can see everyone’s flaws in such detail, but that makes Harry’s face…almost better. He’s not perfect, he has pores and blackheads and some hairs out of place—and that’s okay. He wonders if it should matter that he’s never thought that about a human. He tells himself it doesn’t.

 _“Will you stay in bed for a bit?”_ Louis asks. He sounds innocent but he’s doing it. Glamouring before Harry even has a chance to make a decision of his own. Louis doesn’t know why he’s doing it even as he watches Harry’s face change as he hears Louis’ soft voice; it goes slack, then back to normal, like nothing happened. Nothing at all. Louis’ stomach garbles.

“Shh.” Harry puts a hand on Louis tummy, rubbing gentle circles. “Shh, of course, Lou.” Louis closes his eyes. Harry’s hand spans most of Louis’ stomach and his wider frame closes around him. Louis can feel a cold breeze from where Harry’s feet dangle through the bars at the end of the bed, holding open the duvet a little bit. 

Harry hums a melody that sounds like a lullaby. Louis lets the deep vibrations of Harry’s song drift through his senses, feeling his nerve-endings relax at the sensation, letting it drown out everything else: the cars on the street, the rats scratching around above his ceiling, the restaurant below.

“Harry,” he says hesitantly in the quiet.

Harry stops humming to answer. He seems sleepy, like the air. “Yeah?”

“Were there any lakes around where you grew up?” He doesn’t know what he expects to hear. 

Harry smiles and there’s a look in his eyes Louis hasn’t seen yet. “Yeah. I mean it was like an hour away from my house, if you call that ‘near,’” Harry says. “My sister, Gemma, took me once. It was too cold to swim, though, so we just ate a picnic and caught up on what we’d missed about each other since she left for school.”

Louis fiddles with Harry’s fingers pressing down each one like he’s playing the piano with his knuckles against bedsheets. “But you’ve been to a lake before, right?”

Harry laughs, grabbing Louis’ fingers so they’ll stand still. “Louis, why does it matter if I’ve been to a lake?”

Louis can’t explain so he doesn’t try. “Just—have you?”

“No, Louis,” Harry says dryly. “And why does this matter?”

Louis shrugs, making sure to meet Harry’s eyes. “ _Oh, no reason. Don’t worry about it, babe._ ” 

Harry’s face goes slack, then back to normal. He starts to hum again like he couldn’t care less about Louis’ questions of lakes and the impossible reasons behind them. But that’s the thing about vampire mind control, you can make anyone believe anything you want, no questions asked.

In the almost-silence, Louis listens to Harry breathe, to the sound of his blood in his veins. It’s distracting, but he’s glad for it. He can’t figure out what it was that he saw. He’s doubting he ever saw images of Harry at all. If he hasn’t jumped in a lake, what are the odds he’d actually skateboarded down sunny streets? But he had to have, though, or else that means Louis’ going crazy or something. And he is definitely _not_ going crazy. So he listens. He listens to Harry hum and catches the way his heart drums faster when he lays his head on Harry’s chest. He wonders if it’s from nerves or if his body recognizes Louis as a threat. He realizes that doesn’t want to know the answer. 

He burrows into Harry’s neck and Harry holds him tighter, humming his sweet tune. Louis should be scared at how fast he falls asleep, at how fast he’s digging himself a hole. But he’s not.

.::.::.

Louis’ hunger wakes him up in an angry way. He stares at his curtains shifting through airwaves from the vent on the floor, thinking that if he could still dream he probably would have been dreaming of hunting and killing and drinking body after body after body… Theres a sliver of light that glows behind the curtain, shifting in size as the fabric sways, forward and backward and forward again. It’s hypnotizing—like a pulse.

Louis blinks, and he feels more aware of what’s around him. He looks around at his apartment, remembering how it looked with Harry in it yesterday, remembering what he saw when he fed from Harry. He doesn’t know why but he hasn’t had the urge to feed. He’s hungry and growing weak, but wanting to kill is different from wanting to eat. He’s ashamed at himself for not having the motivation to go out and hunt, but he has this feeling that if he does, he won’t find out the truth. He guesses that’s because that’ll mean he’ll have to leave soon, limiting the time he’ll have to get the answers he needs. 

Thoughts of blood and feeding are making him lightheaded, so he decides that if he’s not going to kill for food, he might as well not torture himself. So he goes down to work an hour early in search of a distraction.

When he walks into the kitchen to see if DJ needs a hand with anything, that bartender from Harry’s work is there standing at the stove with DJ, which is so strange a coincidence that it’s probably not just chance. They’re talking behind a thick sheen of steam billowing out of a giant pot of some soup boiling on the stove. They’re whispering quietly to each other but stop as soon as he walks in the room. Louis tells himself he didn’t notice the sound of them talking because he was paying too much attention to his hungry belly, but he’s not entirely convinced.

The bartender barely looks at him after Louis enters the room; instead, he makes his way to the door.

“Deej, don’t let this get any worse.” He puts a hand on the swinging door to the café floor. Louis notices an emerald crystal bracelet that matches the crystal he’s seen DJ sometimes wear around her neck. He thinks of Harry and his stomach grumbles.

DJ roles her eyes. “Zayn, you do know who you're talking to, right?”

The bartender, Zayn, scoffs and pushes through the door without looking back.

Louis hears the bell above the door ring as Zayn walks out. “What’s with him?” he asks, jumping up to sit on one of the counters beside the stove.

DJ shakes some ingredients into the soup on the stove, then peaks in to check the oven. “Oh, you know. He’s a good guy with a friend in a tricky situation. Worried. That kind of thing.”

Louis’ mind wanders to Harry again, to the night they met. Zayn stared at him with a viciously jealous gleam in his eye…. He clears his throat. “Well, I hope he figures it out.”

DJ glances sideways at him. “What are you doing here anyway? You don’t work until six.”

Louis swings his legs. “Bored. I was hoping I could help with something?”

DJ puts a lid on the soup and slides it onto the back burner. “Everything’s pretty much ready for dinner. Maybe just some cleaning?”

Louis clicks his tongue. “Just what I was hoping for.”

“Okay, turbo.” She laughs and heads to the front to check on customers. Louis’ glad she’s not in the room because he can clean more and a hell of a lot faster when no one is watching. Doing things at human speed is a pain and he’s tired of holding back. 

In the time it takes for DJ to make her rounds (only ten minutes), Louis’ cleaned all three floor drains, and started on the mop sink. And he didn’t even think about what it felt like to drink from Harry’s neck. Not even once. He hears her coming so he returns to human speed as he scrubs the tiles. 

She pokes her head through the door. “Hey, I’m gonna stay up here. Holler if you need anything.”

“Roger!”

He picks up speed again as the door swings closed behind her. He’s done with the mop sink within fifteen minutes and throws the mop heads in the washing machine in the back of the shop. He then decides—very pointedly—that he will not even think about blood while he scrubs the legs of all the tables. Even though they’re wiped down most days, there’s a buildup of grime and dirt at the bottoms from the mop water and people’s feet kicking up dirt. He likes the tediousness of the work, though. It helps. Kind of.

After thirty more minutes, he decides he’s done enough so he puts a load of dirty towels in the wash and puts the mop heads in the dryer before heading back up to his apartment to shower. It feels like there’s a film of filth over his body and as soon as the stairwell door has closed behind him, he runs top speed to his apartment door, thankful the building is too old and doesn’t have any cameras.

His shower is small but the frosted glass door has pretty flower designs and the things he “bought” from Bed Bath and Beyond the other day make it almost cozy. He washes his hair and body, but still can’t seem to get the overwhelming stench of bleach from his hands so eventually he gives up trying.

Back downstairs, DJ is eating a bagel. There’s a sandwich cut in half laid out on a plate with potato chips between the two halves. She pushes the plate toward Louis as he walks up to take a seat on a bar stool near the cash register. 

Through a full mouth, DJ says, “I could practically hear your stomach growling from upstairs. Eat.”

Louis tries not to groan or refuse or otherwise admit that he doesn’t want anything at all to do with the sandwich glaring up at him. He smiles, though reluctantly. “Gladly. The place I work at hardly gives me a living wage.”

“Wow you should just work here—all my employees can make themselves food as long as they work for it.”

“That’d be nice.” Louis takes a bite. It’s slimy and dry at the same time and makes him want to puke. “Then I could treat myself to the good stuff like health insurance or endless milkshakes.”

“Or anything you could ever want from Bed Bath and Beyond.” DJ gives him a look he pretends not to see.

“Honestly, that store is amazing.” He takes another bite, thinking of that godawful place with too bright of lights and squeaky floors.

DJ smirks. “I can tell. You came home with half the store the other day.”

Louis shrugs, hoping he just seems super interested in his food. “I’ve lived a pretty nomadic life. Never really settled down, so I’ve never felt the need to buy silverware or pots and pans or anything.” He shrugs again. “It’s nice to have a home, now, ya know?”

“Different is good,” DJ says, repeating his words from his first night working. 

Louis nods, smiling with a mouth full of sandwich. He swallows. “So what’s _your_ story?” 

DJ takes her last bite of bagel and licks some cream cheese from her thumb. “Denise June Paterson was born in Chicago, Illinois. She didn’t care for the big city all that much and longed to be shadowed by mountains. So she moved here.” She pauses, like she’s paying tribute to this place, to Seattle and all its safe-ness. “She still doesn’t like the city much, but these streets feel more like home than ‘ _home_ ’ ever really did. She went to culinary school, had the chance to work for a prestigious restaurant she couldn’t pronounce without Googling it first, but ended up taking over a local cafe that was going out of business. She’s made some amazing friends—and even better family—and she wouldn’t do anything different if given a second chance.”

Louis listens to her tell her story, wondering if she’s lying. Something about her mentioning his Bed Bath and Beyond “purchases” and that Zayn guy being here has Louis spooked. He makes a mental note to work extra hard on Being Human and to follow DJ’s example of searching the internet for answers to the questions that are forming in his mind.

“I’d kill for confidence like that,” he says before he really thinks about it. He has killed, but that hasn’t changed anything. He wonders, if he could go back to the moment that changed his life, would anything be different? 

“Killing won’t do shit. You’ve got to earn things in life, Louis. Not everything can be taken.” She ties up her hair but the longer strands of her bangs float back down to rest beside her ears. Louis feels like she’s talking to him, the real him, but shakes the thought away. There’s no way she knows what he is. Her realm of reality is so far off from his it’s not even funny. Even if she guessed, he’d call her crazy and no one would believe her. Still, he listens. A part of him can see where she’s coming from, but the rest of him is blind to working hard to accomplish things, to earning, to building trust, when he knows anything is his if he wants it. He just knows how to be the right kind of persuasive.

“You sound like my mom,” he says because one, she does, and two, he figures mentioning his family might make him seem a little more human. He takes another nasty bite.

“She must be a smart woman, then.”

Louis shoves the rest of the sandwich in his mouth, figuring it’d be better to just get it over with. He eyes the crumbs on his plate as if they’re going to multiply into more sandwiches he’ll have to eat. He tries not to gag. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “She was.”

But a few post-dinner customers just walked in and he’s not sure if DJ heard him, which is something he's perfectly fine with. He helps with the small rush, but excuses himself to the “little boys’ room,” shortly after the people order their food and sit down, waiting to be served. He would offer to help with the orders, but DJ does all the cooking. She’s mentioned in passing that whenever she lets someone make customers’ food, anyone in the restaurant is at risk of being hurt. Louis thinks that’s a little far fetched, but superstition is something he knows a thing or two about. So he respects it.

In the bathroom, he looks at his reflection. He remembers how long it took to get used to seeing himself with such clarity. Legend has it that vampires don’t have a reflection, but that’s not true at all. Your reflection just changes. You’re whole body does. You look different, you feel different, you _are_ different. It’s like puberty on steroids, or something. He can hardly recall what he used to look like, anymore, before all this. All he knows is that he was once softer, and more curved, with feathered hair and sweet eyes. 

Now he’s…something else entirely. He’s more striking than before, more angled and arched. He’s beautiful, but in the way flames and snakes are beautiful. They’re nice to look at, but you know you shouldn’t touch them. And there’s something about his eyes, that he’s not sure if he’ll ever get used to. They’re still blue, but there’s something missing from them or something added—or both.

He splashes his face with cold water like it could wash away his added parts to reveal who he used to be. He does it again because he’s stupid and doesn’t know why he’s thinking these things, now, after seven years since he Changed. The old him was dumb, anyway. At least now he’s smart and tactical and can take care of himself. His stomach gargles, as if in response to his thoughts. He tells it to ‘Shut up,’ and walks back out to the café floor.

Louis returns to DJ bringing the first group their entrées. “Tummy okay?”

He tries not to scoff as he said, “Nothing some Tums can’t handle.”

She’s distracted as she replies. “Gotta take care of yourself, Lou.”

His mind turns to Harry. _I’m trying_ , he thinks.

.::.::.

Louis’ slipping on his socks when he hears Harry laugh. He looks around, checking he’s alone even though he knows he is. There’s no breathing, no heartbeat, no noise apart from the cars outside, the rats above his ceiling, and the cafe downstairs. Nothing unusual. Except that he just heard Harry’s laugh.

Louis is reminded of what he saw when he was feeding on Harry, that first night. Harry, so alive under the sun, looking beautiful and golden and too much. He blinks and sees carpet and an old leather couch. His entire apartment is hardwood floors and he doesn’t own a couch, let alone an aged and weathered one. Harry speaks, quiet at first, like his voice is muffled through water, then louder the harder Louis concentrates on it. 

“Okay, but what should I say?”

There’s another voice, one that’s disapproving and grumpy. “How about, ‘fuck off?’”

“Zayn, stop being jealous I found a guy before you,” Harry says, and it feels like Louis is speaking with Harry’s voice. It’s surreal. A guy with messy blond hair is sitting beside him, and Louis sees Zayn sitting on a Lazy Boy, with a computer on his lap.

“Just say what first comes to mind when wanted to text him,” the blond says.

Harry laughs, and Louis sees Harry’s arms as if they're his own, imitating someone texting in an over-dramatic way with his phone in hand. “You’re super cute and I want to cuddle, but I also want you to come in my mouth.”

The blond guy laughs. “Maybe don’t say that,” he says. Zayn huffs and leaves the room. “Why is Zayn grumpier than usual?”

Louis feels Harry shrug. “He thinks Louis’ bad news.”

Someone new walks into the room. “Who’s bad news?” He takes Zayn’s old spot.

The blond answers before Harry can. “This new cutie Harry’s seeing.”

“Okay, we’ve hardly been ‘seeing’ each other,” Harry says through a smile. “Niall’s just being overzealous.”

“If Niall thinks he’s cute, he’s gotta be gorgeous.”

Niall steals Harry’s phone and brings up Instagram. It’s already on Louis’ old profile that he’d long forgotten about. “Okay so these are hella old, but he’s even cute in them, so that says something.”

The new guy’s smile falters when he sees the pictures. “I know this guy.”

Louis is confused how this stranger could know who he is.

Harry, apparently, feels the same. “Where from?”

“He came into work a few weeks ago. He was a total asshole.”

There’s a silence wherein the three of them share looks. “Maybe he was having a bad day?” Niall says, trying to lighten the mood. But the foreign living room fades and Louis opens his eyes, coming back to his reality. 

He remembers him now, the Bed Bath and Beyond employee who was just doing his job and Louis was having a shit time. Louis had honestly forgotten about him, just another annoying human in a long line of annoying humans he now has to deal with on a daily basis. He didn’t realize his being rude would effect someone like this. He remembers now. His name is Liam. Louis wishes he didn’t know his name, that he wasn’t reminded of this person who he hurt. It’s better to just hurt and forget about it. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

His stomach grumbles and he considers feeding. Maybe some blood could clear up whatever the fuck is going on with him seeing things, hearing voices, being suspicious of those close to him. He doesn’t know what’s going on with him, why he doesn’t listen to his instincts to survive. He might as well, because Harry probably won’t want to see him again and he’ll never find out the truth.

To his surprise, he does get a text from Harry later that night. It seems plain in comparison to the text he had wanted to send: “let’s hang soon? I won’t subject you to my cooking, if you don’t want” with the upside down smily emoji. 

Louis smiles, right side up, despite himself.

.::.::.

When he walks into the kitchen to say hi to DJ, those two students from a couple weeks ago are bantering about what temperature the soup on the stove should be. Thelma’s hair is pulled up in a messy bun atop her head, this time her natural curls aren’t straitened, and James has shaved his beard.

He raises a hand in greeting and hops onto the counter beside the other two. 

Thelma reaches over to shake his hand. Her hair isn’t hiding her ears this time, and she’s wearing these delicate jade stone earrings that dangle and sway when she moves. “I don’t believe we’ve properly met. I’m Thelma.”

“And I’m James.” He steps up to shake Louis’ hand as well. 

“Louis.” He smiles at them. “DJ may have slipped your names to me when I helped you out. And,” he says, placing a hand on his chest, “I’m not bragging or anything, but she also said I must have made your drinks perfectly ‘cause the two of you are, quote, ‘coffee snobs.’”

Thelma rolls her eyes and returns to stirring the soup. “I am _not_ a coffee snob.”

“Whatever Thel,” James says. He looks to Louis with an expression that says she’s lying. “At least I’ll own up to by coffee snob status.”

Thelma points the wooden spoon at James. “You really think it’s unreasonable to want to get your money’s worth?” James starts to reply but she cuts him off, turning to Louis. “What do you think, Louis?”

He looks between the two of them and shrugs, throwing an apologetic look James’ way. “From a totally third party point of view, I have to agree with Thelma.”

Thelma exclaims and James just rolls his eyes. “Anyway,” James says over Thelma’s jibes. “What’re you up to, Louis?”

He shrugs again, thinking of a quick lie. “I work in a bit and wanted to steal a quick bite before my shift.” He almost doesn’t catch it, but the two of them share a glance. He wonders if maybe they’re flirting with each other or something. “You?”

Thelma answers for the two of them. “Class was canceled today so we figured we’d come in and help Deej out.”

James nods. “She took us in and helped us get back on our feet a few years back. We try to give back whenever we can.”

Louis moves to the staff refrigerator and takes a peek inside. “Oh, I didn't know y’all were so close,” Louis says. He grabs some smoked scallop chowder and throws it in the microwave for a bit. “It feels like I’ve known her for longer than just a couple weeks, personally. She’s just easy to talk to.”

“Ya know, kissing up to my friends won’t get you a raise or anything.” 

Louis turns and DJ is leaning against one of the metal counters. He rolls his eyes and takes his soup out of the microwave one second before the timer goes off. “Ya know, I’m capable of actual gratitude. In case you didn’t know.”

Thelma and James share another glance, which is confusing. Louis doesn’t know why, but he feels like he’s missing something here between the three of them. Something about the way their eyes move, the way their jewelry shines in the florescent lighting. But he can’t decipher what or why. Maybe he’s just anxious because he doesn’t want to eat this nasty soup.

DJ crosses her arms, arching one of her brows in a testing way, but Louis knows she's just being dramatic. “Yeah, yeah,” she says. She winks at him before turning to the other two. “Can I steal you two for a sec?”

Thelma puts a lid on the big metal pot and turns the burner to ‘simmer’ before taking James’ hand and following DJ to her office. (Definitely dating.) Now that they’re gone, Louis doesn’t actually want to eat any of this shit. He looks down at his chowder and watches how it plops off his spoon in goops, the chunks of clams and scallops making it look closer to vomit than anything actually edible. He waits for a moment, but when it seems like the three are busy talking in DJ’s office, he heads up to his apartment so he can dump the soup in the toilet. 

After the flush, there’s a ringing in his ears. He has a weird thought and tries to listen in on the goings-on in DJ’s office. He can hear them talking, but it’s slow and garbled, like DJ’s office rests at the bottom of a lake instead of just one floor below him. He closes his eyes, trying harder to hear what they’re saying, but to no avail. Opening his eyes, he brings himself back to his bathroom. He wonders if maybe his senses are weakening due to the fact he hasn’t fed in three weeks and two days—not that he’s counting. A scallop bubbles up from the bottom of the toilet bowl as if in answer to his prayers for blood, and Louis thinks the universe has a real shitty sense of humor.

.::.::.

Louis’ phone vibrates on the shelf in the bathroom. He knows it’s Harry before looking at it. They have plans to go around town today that Louis never actually intended on following through with. It may be overcast but that doesn’t mean a vampire can go outside in the daytime. (He’s still annoyed about Twilight, to be honest.) He trusts his persuasiveness to save him on this, though, and he steps out of the shower.

He yawns, angry that he couldn’t sleep, and runs his towel over his wet hair. He sees the text was, in fact, from Harry. It reads: _here!_ Louis tells him to come up because he’s still getting dressed.

Louis slips on some boxer briefs just as Harry walks in.

“You know, you should really start locking your door,” is the first thing Harry says, shutting the door behind him. He squints in the darkness, his human eyes still adjusting to the lack of light. 

“Don’t worry, babe, I have a great security system installed,” Louis says with a smirk.

“What security system? I didn’t notice-” He stops himself, finally able to see Louis’ expression. “I swear to god, Louis, if you say ‘these guns’ I’m gonna dead-ass walk back out that door.” But his actions say otherwise as he flops down onto Louis’ unmade bed. 

Louis smiles and offers a meek flex of both his arms in reply before pulling on a t-shirt. “Okay so how mad would you be if I tried to bribe you into staying in with free coffee and/or cuddles? I’m exhausted.”

He moves to straddle Harry where he lies, white skin such a contrast with deep red sheets. They bring out the blush in Harry’s cheeks when Louis looks him directly in the eyes. He can hear Harry’s blood pump faster and the steady bum-bum pulsing through under Harry’s skin is enough to drive Louis crazy. But he needs answers, first.

Harry’s expression is pensive, like he can’t figure out if he wants to go out in the breezy October weather or stay inside with a cute boy. Louis’ about to Glamour him, they’re already eye-to-eye when—

“Only if I get to show you the best show on Netflix, no questions asked,” he says. He threads his fingers with Louis’ when Louis nods and looks down with a smile. He feels light inside and wonders if that’s how it always feels when a cute boy chooses cuddles over boring cold walks or if it’s just him. “Also I hope you know that I know exactly what you just did, by the way.”

Louis is stunned for a moment. “What?”Harry raises his eyebrows. “I’m just sayin’, I walk in and you’re practically naked and then you straddle me—like your hips shouldn’t be allowed, okay?” 

Louis relaxes, tilting his head back as he laughs. “Whatever you say, boss.”

DJ’s reading the newspaper at the main counter when they make their way downstairs a few minutes later. (Harry refused to leave until Louis put on some pants. Just to spite him, Louis chose the baggiest sweats he owns, the ones that hang the lowest on his hips and stuck out his tongue as he walked past Harry into the hall.) She looks up and raises her cup of coffee in ‘hello.’

“So what’s so great about this show?” Louis asks, grinding down some espresso beans to pour them a couple shots.

Harry slides onto a bar stool and folds his hands in an important way in front of his chest, his elbows resting on the counter. “It creates a discussion about modern society and how far we, as humans, might go with technology—but in a weird Twilight Zone kind of way.” 

While the shots are pouring, Louis steams some milk. He makes an uneasy face. “I’ve never seen The Twilight Zone…”

“What?!” Harry drops his hands to the countertop in exasperation. “Who hasn’t seen The Twilight Zone?” He turns to DJ. “Who hasn’t seen The Twilight Zone?!”

DJ feigns seriousness, wide eyes turned to Louis. “Honestly, you have’t lived until you've seen it,” she says, which makes Louis a little rattled. He tries to tell himself she couldn't have meant anything by it as she slips the bell onto the counter and heads to the back, leaving the door swinging behind her. 

Louis pours their espresso into mugs and the hot glass nearly burns his fingertips but it heals before he really takes note of it. He pours in the foamed milk as he replies, “I grew up with a house-full of little sisters and a single mom. I didn’t really have time between babysitting, homework, and—well babysitting and homework—to watch anything, let alone black and white television.” He shrugs.

Harry sips his latte. “Guess I can let this one slide.”

They head upstairs and Louis gives Harry some pajamas to change into so he doesn't have to spend their movie day in those tight, high-waisted black jeans—even if he does pull them off so well. He can't tell what's more irresistible: Harry in high fashion attire, or him in too small basketball shorts that leave little to the imagination. Louis hops in bed beside him, deciding he doesn't have to choose.

Louis grabs his computer—the one he stole off of someone he killed in Austin a couple years back—from his bedside table. The first episode starts and grabs Louis’ attention. It makes him think of the vampire communities in New Orleans and Las Vegas, full of vampires killing just for show, just for the recognition of blood spilled. He likes the show in a way that he doesn’t like. It’s entertaining, but doesn’t that say something in and of itself? He remembers how he used to smile at the sight of elder vampires feeding, at the sight of them breaking things only because things could break at all. He sets down his latte, the foamy milk leaving a bitter taste on his tongue.

“So, you’re the oldest?” Harry asks. His hands look big wrapped around the mug. Small swirls of steam rise from his coffee and dance in front of his face, lit up by the sheen of the computer screen in the dark.

Louis shrugs, not wanting to talk about his family because why would he want to. “Yeah,” he says. “What about you? Got any siblings?”

He nods. “Just an older sister.”

“Gemma,” Louis says, not sure why he remembers something so mundane from their conversation the other day. 

Harry smiles, but it’s short-lived. “Yeah. She was in college when I was in high school so once I was old enough to be a decent human, she was never really around.” He looks distracted like his eyes aren’t here and he goes quiet in a way Louis doesn’t like.

Louis puts an arm around Harry’s shoulders and pulls him close. Harry snuggles in with his head on Louis’ chest, with one hand hugging the duvet to his neck and the other holding his coffee close to his lips. Louis rubs his thumb in absent-minded circles on Harry’s bicep and they settle in to watch, both not willing to divulge such familial vulnerabilities.

A couple episodes later finds Louis distracted by his thoughts. He wonders if there’s something more to the jade jewelry that he’s seen DJ, Thelma, James, _and_ Zayn all wear. He wouldn’t really care if there weren’t glances being shared that weren’t meant for him to see or if things with Zayn weren’t weirdly vague enough to be about him and Harry…. He just doesn’t know where to start if he searched online. If it is something supernatural, he feels like the answer won’t just be apparent and waiting to be found just like that. But he would know if it was supernatural, wouldn’t he? He’d be able to tell.

Louis pauses the show. “Potty break?” he asks. He needs a fucking breath because nothing is making sense right now. Harry nods, stretching his arms.

In the bathroom, Louis watches his reflection: the way it moves and the way his shadow is cast behind him. He wonders what it would feel like to lose his shadow. How would anyone feel without the light grounding them to earth? 

Outside, Harry is clicking around on Louis’ computer. He looks up with a lazy smile. “Pizza?”

Louis glances at his phone. “It’s barely noon.”

“That’s the problem with people who order food for delivery: they order when they’re already hungry and by the time the food gets there, they're starving and hangry.” He raises his eyebrows like he’s about to make an astonishing theory. “I’ve found that it’s better to think ahead. Not hungry now, but we will be in like forty minutes. Plus this side of town’s Pizza Time always takes forever.”

Louis shakes his head while he climbs back in bed. “I can see it now. ‘Chef Harry: Guilty Of Ordering Pizza On His Days Off,’” Louis says in an announcer voice. Harry just rolls his eyes. In his normal voice, Louis says, “I don’t think I’ll be hungry. Just order me some soda or something.” His stomach groans as if already anticipating the pain of human food. Louis wonders how he’ll be able to handle actually eating if he can’t even handle the mere thought of it. He buries his face in the mattress next to Harry’s thigh.

“I’m ordering it anyway. What toppings do you like?”

“Babe, I don’t want any,” Louis mumbles into silk sheets.

“Okay so half pepperoni and sausage, half cheese? And a bottle of Coke and…done.” Louis feels Harry turn his head to look at him. 

Louis tilts his head so his left eye can glare up at him in reply. Harry shifts so he’s lying beside him and they’re looking in each other’s eyes. Louis wants to tell him ‘no,’ that he doesn’t want pizza and he won’t fucking eat any, but Harry has a worried look on his face and he’s only doing what any sensible human would do. And Louis knows he has to keep up his act or else things would get even more complicated than they already are. So he concedes and shrinks into Harry’s arms hoping for some sort of satisfaction if he’s depriving himself of blood. So when Harry pulls his face up for a kiss, Louis doesn’t complain. He’s glad the taste and the feel of Harry’s tongue is distracting enough to make him forget about the rumbling of his stomach. 

He pushes Harry onto his back and lies on top of him. He’s messing up his curls with his hands, but he can’t bring himself to care—and, if he’s honest, he doesn’t really think Harry cares all that much either. Louis’ out of breath before he even has Harry out of his shirt. He’s kissing down the gentle line of hair on Harry’s stomach, but when his lips reach the waistband of his shorts Harry places a hand on Louis’ shoulder.

Louis looks up. The look on Harry’s face is apologetic, yet defiant. “Not so fast, yeah?” he says. The look in his eyes tells Louis there are secrets not ready to be shared. A part of him wants to demand this, demand to get the distraction he deserves by sweat and skin and the sound of Harry moaning his name. But he can see in Harry’s eyes, see that there is more than just secrets—there’s pain and, strangely, Louis doesn’t want to be the source of more. What’s worse is he can’t tell if it’s because if he screws things up between them he won’t ever find out about the memories, or if it’s because he actually cares.

He smiles as sweet as he can muster. “Of course.” He crawls up to place a soft kiss on Harry’s lips. Louis can still feel Harry’s blood pumping and he doesn’t have to move the blankets to see where. Harry presses play and they watch some more of _Black Mirror_. Louis can’t really pay attention, though. His hope for a distraction of skin and sweat is now having the opposite effect because Harry’s veins are thicker and his heart is beating harder as he tries to calm his breathing and the sound of all that blood is really not what Louis needs right now. He takes a breath, trying to calm his mind. Since that doesn’t work and he isn’t following the plot of this episode, he opts for a another, hopefully better, distraction.

“So I have a weird question.”

Harry eyes him apprehensively. “Yes?”

“Did you know that Zayn is pretty close with my boss?”

Harry noticeably relaxes. “I mean, not necessarily. Why?”

Louis fiddles with a corner of his sheets. “I dunno, I just find it strange.”

“Strange, how? Zayn’s lived here years longer than you have. The odds of him meeting your boss before you are pretty high.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s just-,” Louis pauses the show because neither of them are paying attention to it. “Isn’t it weird that Zayn, DJ, and two other people who know DJ all wear the same stone in their jewelry?”

Harry stares at Louis blankly. “Lou, is this really about jewelry?”  
Louis wants to mention the looks, the casual things DJ sometimes says that have double meanings, but then he’d have to explain _why_ those things are strange for her to say and that would entail revealing the fact that he is, in all actuality, an immortal, bloodthirsty killer. Louis thinks he’d rather keep that to himself, at the moment.

Louis runs a hand through his hair. He laughs in a nervous way. “Am I totally overthinking?”

Harry smiles with half his mouth, a smile that says ‘sorry’ just as clearly as speaking the word. “It’s not totally out of the realm of possibility that they all just know DJ and she makes her own jewelry.” He shrugs. “Hell, she might even sell it on Etsy or something.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Louis says. 

The intercom buzzes. Harry wiggles his eyebrows up and down. “Pizza’s here,” he says and pulls on his shirt. He races Louis to the door, which is difficult because Louis could easily get to the door first, but he lets Harry win.

Harry presses his finger on the intercom button. “Louis Tomlinson residence. How may I help you?”

It’s DJ on the other end. She laughs and Louis can practically see her roll her eyes. “Hi, Harry,” she says. “And Louis, frankly I’m offended you ordered shit food-” She muffles an insincere ‘sorry’ to the delivery person. “-when I have a kitchen full of high quality ingredients down here.”

“It was his idea!” Louis says. Harry starts to interrupt, but Louis laughs and bumps him with his hip and speaks louder. “It was his idea, I swear!”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say. Sending ‘em up.”

They sit cross-legged on Louis bed eating out of the box and drinking soda straight from the bottle. Well, Harry does most of the eating; Louis hardly scrapes down a slice before giving up and just sticking to the soda. But even that is too harsh on his stomach. Harry’s telling a story but Louis can’t concentrate on anything but how the carbonation is making the slice of pizza he ate simmer and gargle inside him. Harry gets to the punch-line and Louis give a half-hearted laugh, his hand resting on his stomach. 

Harry looks tired, but in a sad way, like he’s worried about Louis and Louis hates it. He shouldn’t be worried, he should be scared and running and not clearing off the bed so that he can hold him. Louis should tell him to leave, to never come near or speak to him again. He should Glamour Harry into forgetting he ever met him. But since when do people ever really do what they should?

So they lie together and watch Netflix in the quiet comfort of each other’s arms. When Louis dozes off, he hopes, for a fleeting moment, that Harry will still be here when he wakes.

.::.::.

"Hey, sorry I’m late. Still trying to get my bearings around here.” Louis holds out his hand to Harry’s friend Niall, someone Louis shouldn't recognize because they’ve never actually met in person. “Hi, I’m Louis.”

Niall smiles and shakes his hand. “Niall,” he says.

The waiter comes by and gets their drink orders and Harry asks for some potato skins for an appetizer, which sounds actually revolting to Louis. They get their beers and mull over the menu for a bit, making small talk. Louis’ not excited about having to eat food again. After Harry left last week, he almost felt like puking but the feeling passed long enough for him to fall asleep. Lately, he’s been either sleeping too much or not enough. It’s like his body can’t make up its mind on what it needs to do to continue. It’s exhausting.

“So Louis, I hear you work at that 24 hour cafe down in the U District? DJ’s, is it?” Niall asks.

Louis nods swallowing a gulp of his light beer. “Yeah, I do. Ever been?”

Niall shakes his head. “Too broke; I only came out tonight to meet you, so be honored. You like working there?”

Louis smiles. “Glad you’re here, man. Yeah, I love it there. DJ’s honestly the heart and soul of that place. And she feels more like a friend than a boss, really.”

“Wish I could say the same. My boss somehow finds a way for me to fuck up at least twice a shift. Honestly, it’s just tiring at this point, but I can’t afford to quit.”

The two of them chat for a bit about what Niall does for work before the waiter comes and takes their orders. Harry’s eyes don’t go unnoticed by Louis; he’s watching the two of them talk and Louis can tell he’s pleased that they’re getting along okay without his help. Louis almost doesn’t order anything, but decides it’s probably for the best if he does. Plus, Harry’s being extra observant tonight due to their company, so he orders a simple minestrone and a roll and calls that good enough.

The conversation turns to school and, since he can’t really participate in that subject, Louis reverts to pushing the celery and beef and onion around in his bowl without really eating more than a couple bites. He rips off a piece of his roll and chews on the tip of it wondering what it would be like to not have a clock ticking down the seconds and minutes and days he has to live, and he realizes he _did_ know what that was like. Before all this, he never had to think about his life ending because he was supposed to be immortal, just a thing that kills and kills and never dies. He’s sitting here in front of these two oblivious boys and doesn’t understand the point to all this—from meeting DJ to seeing Harry’s memories of lakes and sunshine to being here, worried about what Niall thinks of him. He doesn’t know why but he has the feeling that everything that’s happened so far is somehow strung together, like if he could just wait a little bit longer he could reach the end and tie the knot to hold it all in place, suspended in time. But he’s never been any good at fixing up loose ends in ways that don’t end in death or blood, or both.

“Louis?” Harry says. He puts his hand on Louis’ forearm, eyes big like questions. “You okay?”

Louis fakes a smile. “Yeah, I’m okay. I think I’m gonna get some air.” He smiles again and squeezes Harry’s hand before heading for the door. 

He stands in the alley beside the bar, resting his back against the weathered bricks. He can hear Harry and Niall talking about him inside. He lights a cigarette and listens.

“I’m like the straightest guy around, but he’s hot,” Niall says.

Harry laughs and rolls his eyes. “Niall, I’m pretty sure that means you’re not the straightest guy around.”

Niall considers this, taking a drink off his beer. “Hmm, I’ll give you that one.”

“So??” Harry asks, and there’s a real serious note to his voice under his casual demeanor. He really cares what Niall thinks. Louis surmises that they’re best friends, closer to each other than their other two friends, Zayn and Liam.

“I think he seems nice enough, if not a little quiet. But not as big a dick Zayn and Liam say he is. But, like, I don’t really know him so I can’t really make that call.”

Harry nods. “Right? I’m the one seeing him, I spend the most time with him, shouldn’t I be able to make that call on my own? Without Zayn being so rude about it?”

“Yeah, I mean Liam at least has a reason to not like him, but Zayn? He’s never even met the guy, right?”

“Well, I’m not sure,” Harry says with a full mouth. He points his fork at Niall, swallowing his bite of potatoes before finishing his thought. “The other day Louis mentioned that Zayn and DJ are, like, friends or something. Maybe he and Zayn crossed paths at the café?”

“Zayn and Louis’ boss know each other?” 

“Yeah. Why are you acting like that’s weird?”

Niall finishes the last of his beer. “I mean, it’s a big city. What are the odds, ya know?”

Harry starts to reply, but Louis tunes out their conversation as well as all the other sounds from the bar. He’s sick of all the noise in a way he never has been before. It’s like he has to work so much harder to either tune in or tune out of the goings-on around him and it’s just fucking tiring. That, plus the fact that Niall thinks it’s strange that Zayn and DJ know each other, too, is giving Louis a headache.

He smokes the last drag on his cigarette and holds the smoke inside. He imagines it swirling in his lungs, angry to get out. His stomach is churning in a similar way and when he opens his mouth to let the smoke out, he feels himself retching. His mind feels disconnected with his body because he shouldn’t be puking, this can’t be happening to him. Humans get sick, humans puke. Not vampires. But he hasn’t fed in a whole month and that’s the longest he’s ever gone without blood, so really, maybe this is normal.

He rests his forehead on the alley wall and lets the cold bricks bring him back to himself. His cigarette is still smoking where it has fallen to his feet. He watches the smoke twist and float on the air and he can’t tell what’s worse: the fact he hasn’t fed in a month or the fact that he doesn’t even really want to.

The bar door opens and Louis knows it’s Harry. He rounds the corner and sees Louis leaning on the wall, standing beside his small puddle of vomit.

His eyes look sad in the dim streetlights and he holds out a hand. “Let’s head home, yeah?”

Louis doesn’t think it’s weird that Harry doesn’t ask if he’s okay. He doesn’t realize Harry’s already noticed his indifference to food in general. He doesn’t think twice about the hand offered to him. Louis tells himself it’s just the promise of being warmed by blood that makes him reach for Harry’s outstretched hand. But Louis can’t help but doubt that because when his fingers entwine with Harry’s, it somehow feels like a promise.

.::.::.

Louis’ eyes are getting sore from staring at his computer screen. He’s turned the brightness down to the dimmest it can possibly go and it’s still giving him a headache. He thinks maybe Google searching “jade stone jewelry” was a waste of time and energy. All he’s learned is that jade stones have a calm and wise energy and some people believe they can actually heal you. Louis is kind of on the fence about the whole thing because he doesn’t exactly understand how a stone could be “wise” when it’s intimate and has no way of learning from past experiences. Then again, he didn’t believe in vampires before, so, who knows.

He closes his computer and welcomes the darkness that envelops hm. He rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. Maybe he really was overthinking the whole matching jewelry thing, like Harry suggested. But he can’t shake the feeling that there’s something he’s missing. Just then, he thinks of something else Harry had said, and reaches reluctantly for his laptop again. He vows that if he doesn’t find anything substantial in the next ten minutes, he’d give up this search for good. Or, at least for now. 

His initial search on etsy is pretty vague, but he narrows it down and is scrolling through various accounts who are selling homemade jade jewelry. He gets to page ten of the search results, determined to find something, _something_ that will give him answers. He clicks on another account that could be promising, but he knows it’s probably not what he’s looking for. Something in one of the comments catches his eye though. Someone shared a link to an outside website with better quality jewelry. Even to Louis, that’s a pretty cold thing to post on someone else’s etsy page. He wouldn’t have thought anything of it, if the commenter hadn’t mentioned a name: DJ.

He clicks on the link and is taken to a clean and calm looking webpage, much nicer than the previous harsh white. He opens the tab that reads “healing/protection” and sees the same jewelry that he’s seen Thel, James, and the others wear, as well as much more intricate and beautiful stones of different colors. He opens the “about” tab and there it is, a picture of a happy DJ in baggy Levis and a white tee shirt, looking sweet and kind and happy and in the arms of a beautiful, dark skinned woman. So. Either he was right all along, or DJ just likes to make jewelry in her spare time. 

Somehow, Louis knows this isn’t just a hobby.

.::.::.

Louis is dressed in Harry’s sweats and is only slightly embarrassed at how many times he has to roll up the legs in order for him to walk without hazard. Harry and Niall sure get a kick out of it, but Louis’ okay with that. He’s starting to enjoy anything that makes Harry smile as big as he does now, even if at his own expense.

“So what’s the plan, Stan?” Harry asks once Louis is seated next to him on the old sofa. They’re all in the living room with ample amounts of popcorn, chips, and, of course, root beer floats because they are adults and can eat whatever they want, thank you very much.

“Shitty Food, Shitty Movies, and Un-Shitty Company Night! Hosted by, your’s truly,” Niall says, bowing in front of a bookcase of old DVDs and starts reading off titles. Zayn chooses this moment to walk as quick as he can through the living room to the front door, while also making it seem like doing so is such a burden. He opens the door, throwing a glowering look toward Louis before letting the door shut behind him.

Harry glares at the door while Niall says, almost to himself, “Now I have to start all over again, asshole.”

Louis smiles at Niall. “I was still listening to you, Ni!” To Harry, whose eyes are still lingering on the door, Louis adds, “It’s okay, Harry. He doesn’t like me. That’s okay. Some people just don’t get along.” He shrugs. Even though it does bother him. But it’s more because he’s curious as to _why_ Zayn doesn’t like him not that he’s bothered by the fact that he apparently hates his living guts—or his un-living guts, but that’s irrelevant.

“So we have Transformers, Spy Kids, and/or the Even Stevens Movie,” Niall says, making the executive decision to narrow down their options.

Louis makes a confused face. “Who said we have to limit ourselves to just one?” he says, which makes Harry crack a smile and Niall turns to Harry and says, “This is why you keep him around, right Haz?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Okay, but we’re one hundred percent starting with The Even Stevens Movie and that’s that.”

Louis holds up his root beer float in cheers. “Here, here!”

They watch and reminisce on ‘the good ol’ days’ when the Disney Channel was cool and Louis smiles, remembering sitting in front of the tv with his sisters after helping them with their homework. They’d gossip and talk about who was the cutest on whichever show they were watching and Louis would braid their hair. He braided their hair a lot. They loved it when he did. Louis guesses they loved feeling close with him in ways their mother couldn’t. She worked so often and so hard to give them everything, that she often missed moments like that. And when it was the hardest, he left. He sets his jaw, focusing on the better memories.

“My sisters and I used to watch together,” he says to no one in particular, but Harry is listening intently and Niall turns to look up from where he sits on the floor, his back against the couch. “We would talk about who were the cutest boys and I’d braid their hair.” He takes a drink of his float to stop himself from saying anything more embarrassing like, _God, I miss them_ , or something close to that.

Harry tightens his arm around him and Louis can feel his pulse easier now and it’s Not Good how good it feels against his skin. Harry smiles down at Louis. “That’s awesome your family was cool about you talking about boys like that.”

Louis shrugs. “I mean, my sisters were so young they didn’t really actually realize how taboo it was and, growing up with me, I think they just eventually learned it was the world that was fucked up and not me.”

Louis takes another sip of his float, thinking back to his conversation with DJ, wondering if that lie will ever come back to bite him. He didn’t run away because he was scared of their reaction to him being gay, but the truth isn’t something he just spews to anyone. If he does, he has to kill them, but it’s not so much of a chore as it is a meal. From the night he left Maine and humanity forever, he’s learned it’s better to lie. The truth doesn’t matter when sharing it results in either him being hunted by elder vampires or humans finding out he kills almost daily—or both. He vaguely wonders how his life of lying had turned into something he regretted or wanted to forget. His stomach aches angrily in hunger or in something else entirely.

Harry smiles in a small way, hiding something behind his eyes, and Louis can surmise what he’s about to say before he says it. “I’m glad you had the support you needed.” Harry’s genuinely glad that Louis had a good experience, but Louis can see that maybe Harry wasn’t so lucky.

Not really sure how to answer something like that without knowing the details, Louis smiles in return, squeezing Harry’s hand. “Me too.”

By the time they all head to bed, Louis’ stomach is churning in a way that he didn’t think possible. He’s brushing his teeth in Harry’s bathroom when it happens. He almost doesn’t make it to the toilet before he retches and regrets everything that’s led up to this moment and this stupid fucking idea to Try To Be Human just for some goddamn answers. He’s glad Harry is still downstairs with Niall, picking up their small mess from the night. He doesn’t want Harry to catch him throwing up two dates in a row. 

He flushes and rinses his mouth out before brushing his teeth again. He watches his reflection and sighs, his stomach less angry at him now but also less of everything else too. At least with human food inside him he can focus on the pain and not hunger. Sometimes that’s…kind of better.

Harry’s sitting on his bed when Louis exits the bathroom; he slips off his socks, throwing them in the hamper beside the bathroom door as he says, “Lou?”

He reaches for Louis to stand between his legs. Louis smiles, looking down in his upturned face. “Yeah, babe?”

Harry plays with Louis’ fingers absently, not looking at them. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, right? Or—” He clears his throat. “Or, like, I hope you know you can share things with me. No matter what it is.”

If this were any other situation, Louis would probably melt inside. But he can’t help but think Harry maybe overheard as the root beer floats and junk food came back up to say hello. And, who is he kidding, if this were any other situation—he wouldn’t even be here to begin with. Harry would be long dead and Louis would be somewhere else, far away. But it isn’t another situation, it isn’t any time but now and now he doesn’t know what to say.

So Louis squeezes Harry’s hands and lying comes as easy as breathing, but it’s never felt this wrong before. “Of course I’d tell you, but I’m fine. Really.” Louis pauses, watching the way Harry’s fingers look so much bigger than his own even though he knows how frail they truly are, even though he knows how easily he could break them. Without thinking, he practically whispers, “I appreciate your concern, though.”

Harry smiles with half his mouth and pulls Louis into a kiss. “Anything,” Harry mumbles between their lips, which could honestly mean a million different things. But Louis figures he’s pretty lucky when it comes to guessing games.

A few minutes later, Harry extricates himself from Louis’ limbs to brush his teeth and wash his face. Louis is left wondering why he feels so unsettled. He watches Harry’s bare back and counts all the freckles and moles and scars and commits each of them to memory. He doesn’t understand how he could feel bad at a time like this, with a beautiful boy all his own, drooling toothpaste foam down his chin a few feet away. A boy who is kind and sweet and generous and good. Louis turns over to face the wall realizing that everything about this is perfect except for himself. But, as Harry slides into bed behind him, he realizes he’s actually wrong. Harry’s not perfect. He’s _human_ , and he probably doesn’t actually even care for Louis at all. It’s probably Louis’ Glamour or some-fucking-thing else that’s making Harry like him because, really, why else would anyone want him?

As if on cue, Harry kisses the back of Louis’ neck in such a tender way that makes Louis want to scream or run away or hurt something or, maybe, just maybe, sink in closer to the feel and warmth of Harry’s chest. Harry falls asleep first, his steady deep breaths a tell-tale sign. Louis listens to his heartbeat, counting every low bump that beats against his back, and tries not to imagine how smoothly Harry’s blood slides through his veins, even though he can hear it all too clearly. Harry pulls him closer in his sleep, groggy and sweet. Louis sighs, confused as to why he ever thought this would be a good idea. 

He doesn’t know how long it takes for him to fall asleep because he lost count of the seconds once he hit ten thousand. When he sleeps, he doesn’t dream. But that’s not a surprise, not anymore.

.::.::.

“Is mascara too much or just enough?” Louis asks. He’s in Harry’s bathroom getting ready for Harry and Niall’s Halloween party. Harry’s sitting on the toilet seat, putting navy blue eye shadow on with a magnified mirror. He laughs and somehow looks stunning in the artificial light.

“That depends,” he says distractedly. “What kind of vampire are you going for?”

Louis surveys his outfit: a black leotard that’s entirely lace, with ripped fishnets, and black combat boots with a cheesy black cape that’s deep purple on the inside. Harry’s outfit is a striking opposite with white panties, a white lace garter belt, and pearl colored tights. He has pretty feathered wings and a halo to match, but they’re lying on the bed, waiting to be put on.

“The kind of vampire that could kill anyone if they crossed him, but tonight he just wants to dance and kiss a cute fallen angel.”

Harry smiles into the mirror he’s using to put on his make up, glancing up as he changes to a silvery shadow. “Who says this angel has fallen? My halo’s just right over there.”

“Precisely,” Louis says with a smirk. He opts for the mascara, thinking it might make his eyes more blue, more like something they used to be. “Anyway, I feel like vampires would like wearing make up. They probably wouldn’t be subjugated to the same social norms as us, ya know?” It’s weird because he never thought he’d get used to referring to himself as human, especially not with such ease. Harry makes it easy to pretend, and, sometimes, the sound of Harry’s steady breathing is enough to dull the ache of hunger in his stomach. 

“Who gave you all this anyway?” Louis asks, referring to the drawers of facial products and make up.

“I bought it myself,” Harry replies with a proud, if not a little annoyed, tone. Louis realizes he just proved that vampires are still, in fact, subjugated to all that social shit.

“Done!” Harry says and sets his make up brush down in a dramatic flourish of raised hands, like he’d just finished an olympic event or something. “What d’ya think?” He bats his eyes and does a twirl. 

Louis takes in this beautiful boy in front of him. “I think that I never thought I’d want to do such dirty things to an angel.”

Harry laughs, rubbing lotion with tiny bits of silver glitter on his chest and arms. “Fallen angel,” he corrects. He puts his arms through the straps of his wings and uses the headband of the halo to hold back his hair. It falls between his wings in a way that shouldn’t look so natural. He thinks back to the night they met, when leaves were strung in his hair, a different kind of halo. But no matter what either of them have to say about it, Louis knows that, when it comes down to it, he doesn’t deserve Harry, fallen angel or not. He has no right to walk into his life just to ruin it. But what kind of vampire would that make him if he didn’t at least try?

Louis runs his hands through his hair, trying to style it to look like he didn’t style it to begin with. “You need to get your story straight, Haz. Are you coming to the dark side or not?” 

Harry slips his feet into a pair of all white high tops. “Yes, but only because I bet fallen angels aren’t forced to participate in gender binaries either.”

Louis winks at him, putting in his fake, dollar-store fangs. He tries to say, “Welcome to the darkness, baby,” but it comes out more like, “Lelcome do da darkness, mamey.” It makes Harry break out laughing and the sound makes Louis feel light inside. He tries not to think of the emptiness in his veins, but he doesn’t think that’ll be a problem. At least not tonight, at least not by the side of his pretty angel.

.::.

Downstairs and a couple hours later finds the two of them considerably intoxicated and dancing in the living room. The couches are pushed to the fringes of the room and there are too many sweaty bodies dancing and moving and it’s honestly giving Louis a headache. But Harry’s favorite song just came on and he’s too cute when he sings.

“One-two-three-four, cretins wanna hop some more!” He has Louis’ hands in his and is jumping back and forth to the beat. “Four-five-six-seven, all good cretins go to heaven!”

Louis has to admit this song is catchy and by the next chorus, he’s singing along. Well, more like yelling along but no one is listening. “I’m gonna go for a whirl with my cretin girl!”

Harry smiles as he yells, “My feet won’t stop doin’ the cretin hop!”

The song ends in an abrupt strum of electric guitar. Louis and Harry stand still, hands still entwined. Harry catches his breath for a moment before the next song plays (Thriller) and he does his best head twitch as a wolf howls through the speakers. As much as Louis would love to watch this, he mouths to Harry that he needs some air, and heads to the back porch.

Niall is among the few outside who are trying to escape the heat of all the bodies and the sound of the music muffles slightly as Louis slides the glass door shut behind him. Niall’s sitting on the wooden railing and the tail of his dinosaur costume looks a little deflated hanging on the other side. He has a cigarette in his hand as he’s texting someone, the screen lighting his face a tint of blue under the hood of his cloth dinosaur head.

“Hey, Ni,” Louis says, leaning on the railing beside him.

Niall looks up and checks out his costume. “Sexy Dracula?”

Louis smiles, sliding his fake fangs out of his capes’ chest pocket and into his mouth. He pops the collar of his cape. “Yourth truly.”

“You know, Harry’ll kill me for telling you this, but we totally stalked your Instagram before y’all started to actually date.” He takes a drag off his cigarette. “Albeit, the pictures on it are hella old, but you’re substantially better looking in person, but still.”

Louis shuffles his feet, pretending to be embarrassed at the complement. “Stop, you’re making me blush,” he says through a smile. He thinks back to that day a couple weeks ago when he saw the moment Niall is talking about with his own eyes. Or, with Harry’s eyes in his own mind. Or—something confusing like that. 

Niall shakes his head. “Nah, that’s Harry’s job.” He takes a swig of his beer. 

Louis laughs probably harder than what that reply deserved. But what does he care? He’s kind of drunk and actually happy. “Plus you’re like the straightest guy around, right? You wouldn’t try anything on me.”

Niall looks at him weird. It isn’t until then that Louis realizes that he never actually heard Niall say that with his own ears. He heard it through whatever is going on between his and Harry’s minds. Niall shakes his head again, like he doesn’t believe what just happened. “You know, that’s really weird you used those exact words. I say that about myself all the time.” 

Louis plays dumb. “Hmm, I must have heard you say it sometime.”

Niall nods, taking another sip. He eyes Louis tentatively before letting go of whatever seemed to make him tense. “Has Harry been talking shit? C’mon, tell me. I can take it,” Niall says, eyes crinkled in a smile. 

Louis takes advantage of the opportunity and pretends to zip his lips. “I will not confirm or deny. But if he has mentioned someone with the name Niall Horan, it has been in nothing but good humor and intent.”

Niall rolls his eyes. “Where is he, by the way?”

“He was having too much fun dancing for me to drag him out here. Plus, he hates it when I smoke.” Louis raises his eyebrows toward the box of cigarettes resting on the railing. “Can I bum one?”

“And risk his wrath?” Niall jokes. He holds the box out for Louis to grab one, then hands over the lighter. “You didn’t get it from me.”

Louis nods, before lighting his cigarette, and mumbles a quick thanks. He feels the burn of the smoke for a few seconds before his lungs heal themselves. He likes going through the old motions, the memory of the jittery buzz enough for him to continue a stupid habit.

“You two are interesting.” Niall’s looking in through the glass doors with a distracted smile on his lips. Louis turns to see what he sees: Harry dancing in between Zayn and another guy who Louis recognizes is Liam. He turns back to Niall trying to ignore the jealousy that’s simmering in the pit of his stomach.

“How so?” He takes a drag and fells the burn, then relief.

“We all go to UW and I’d heard things about Harry from the other Frat guys—God, they were terrible—but since moving in here, none of it was true.” He pauses, either to take a drag or to think. Maybe both. “I’ve heard some stuff about you, too. You’re nicer than they say.”

Louis wonders what rumors there could possibly be about Harry and is surprised by the anger that flares up in him, at the instinct to protect what’s his. “Is this ‘they’ in a general sense, or a more specific one?” Louis asks, knowing exactly who Niall is talking about. He knows Zayn and Liam hate him.

Niall nods to the living room. “Zayn and Liam. Say you’re nasty and bad news. Harry tells them otherwise, and quite often.”

Louis thinks that if he could still blush, he definitely wouldn’t have to feign it now. “So you’re on Harry’s side then?”

Niall shakes his head and chuckles. “I’m on no one’s side, man. I just see it like it is.” He spreads his arms, palms facing Louis. “Innocent until proven guilty.” He shrugs, then answers a text, a cigarette smoldering between his first two fingers.

Louis sucks on his cigarette trying to fill himself with something other than the cold night air. Blood would be better, but he can’t let himself think about that right now. So he doesn’t.

“I care about him a stupid amount, you know.” Louis doesn’t get why Niall’s approval means anything to him or why he feels he has to lie about things that don’t matter. He’s wasting his energy making friends with humans when he was mad to kill them. All he wanted to do when he got Harry’s phone number the night they met was find out why he saw what he saw, but it feels like he’s gotten lost along the way. He should have just left town once Harry told him he’d never jumped in a lake. Louis should have done a lot of things. And now, he’s stuck lying to Harry’s best friend to make him like him. To find himself deeper in this hole he’s digging himself.

Niall looks up, all kinds of questions in his eyes and Louis isn’t sure he wants to answer them anymore. He’s regretting saying anything, regretting that he cares what Harry’s friends think of him. He hates that that matters to him now. Back when he had no one, he didn’t have to worry about this shit. 

The questions turn to something else as a smile stretches wide on Niall’s face. He reaches for his beer and holds it up for Louis to clink his drink in cheers. Since he left his drink somewhere in the house behind him, he taps his cigarette on Niall’s beer bottle instead. “To love!” Niall calls out.  
Louis gives an uneasy smile in return. “To love,” he says before sucking ferociously on his cigarette as if to cleanse himself of his lies.

He says something to Niall about going to take a piss, but really he just needs to stop talking. Or start drinking. Or both. He finds Harry in the kitchen taking shots with some girls in similar costumes. He joins in on the next round of shots and then steals Harry upstairs to “freshen up.” The look on Harry’s face tells Louis he knows a codeword if he’s ever heard one.

As soon as the bedroom door closes behind them, Louis has Harry pressed up against it, and Louis’ never been so thankful for garter belts in his life. Harry’s bare stomach flexes with every move of his hips and Louis wants to be inside him. Wants to do something he has control over, wants to forget how to think because thinking is starting to confuse him.

Harry manages to say, “Bathroom,” between heavy breaths so Louis picks him up without thinking, and sets him on the bathroom countertop. Harry rests his back against the mirror as Louis presses open-mouthed kisses along the hard line of Harry’s cock, the outline of which is softened by pretty white lace. Harry pulls Louis’ face up to kiss. His tongue does dances in Louis’ mouth while his hand is rummaging in a drawer. Louis tugs on Harry’s bottom lip with his teeth, careful to keep his fangs put away. He’s confused, though, because he tastes blood anyway and it’s so fucking good and so hungry that he’s scared of what he might do because he can’t kill him, not when there’s so many people downstairs and not before he figures out what’s going on. So he jumps back and, in doing so, inadvertently pushes Harry away as he does. Harry’s head hits the mirror with an alarming thud but the look on his face is worse than the ringing silence.

“What the fuck?” Harry runs a hand along the back of his head.

Louis turns away, covering his mouth because his fangs are out. “You’re bleeding!” He tries to speak evenly but it somehow comes out like a growl.  
Louis hears Harry lick his lips, wiping away the blood. “My lips crack easily when the weather changes.” He sounds deflated and lost, but Louis doesn’t trust himself to comfort him or try to make this better. He feels like his hunger is worse, now, after tasting what he’s been missing and there’s no way to explain this without giving away his secret.

“With all this make up, you don’t have any goddamn chapstick?” he says because there’s fire back in him, because he’s an animal on the verge of striking.

Harry sounds small. “Why are you acting like this?”

Louis takes a breath. The scent of fresh blood still lingers on the air. He closes his eyes and droops his head in his hands, trying to play the part of someone who _isn’t_ about to pounce. He breaths out, and stands up straight, fighting the urge to drop his fangs. “I’m sorry. I’m extremely squeamish and any blood at all makes me want to throw up and at the time I thought pushing you away was better than throwing up in your mouth.” It’s the stupidest lie he’s ever told.

He opens his eyes and Harry isn’t looking at him. His hand rests on the back of his head, unmoving, like it’s helping his thoughts stay together. His other hand is holding the little sample bottle of strawberry flavored lube, which must have been what he was rummaging in the drawer for.

Louis sighs, muscles relaxing as the urge to feed subsides. He thinks back to the beginning of the night when he welcomed Harry to the dark side and realizes how realistic that was. He’s just darkness and he shouldn’t subject Harry’s light to such bleakness. He should break things off with him, but he’s too weak and he’ll never admit it to himself. He calls it selfishness and leaves it at that.

He takes a step forward and places a tentative hand on Harry’s knee. Harry jerks away from his touch. Louis steps back, knowing when he’s not wanted. “I’m sorry,” he says again.

Harry scoots off of the counter and stands. He still hasn’t looked at Louis. “I don’t think I can be around you right now,” he says, dropping the lube back in the drawer and closes it quietly. His calmness is scary. Louis almost would rather have him yell back at him, or fight. He can’t tell if that’s the predator in him who likes a challenge or if it’s something else entirely.

.::.

Louis doesn’t leave right away. He tells himself it’s because he’s basically naked in his lingerie, but that’s not the truth. He could run home within minutes and no one would even see a blur. That, and his clothes are upstairs in Harry’s room.

He walks around the party aimlessly, watching everyone get sufficiently smashed. He listens to every heartbeat, singling out the only one that matters. He finally hears it as he runs into Zayn in the hallway just before the living room. He’s greeted with a glare.

“What did you do?” His emerald bracelet catches the multicolored strobe lights coming from the dance floor.

In any other situation, Louis would have feigned innocence but he knows Zayn is smarter than most people. “Where’s Harry? Is he okay?”

Zayn laughs. “Even if I told you, it wouldn’t matter. He doesn’t want to see you, or anyone at all. Which leaves me with my original question: What did you do?”

Louis fights the urge to break his neck and thinks back to the other day when he heard Harry in his apartment, to when he listened to Harry and Niall talk about him at the bar. He uses that feeling combined with the sound of Harry’s heart and he knows exactly where he is. He’s sitting on the dryer in the laundry room staring blankly at the wall, letting the steady hum of the vibrations relax his muscles. “I just want to know he’s safe.”

“He’s away from you, isn’t he?”

Louis nods, angry that he agrees and too drunk or lightheaded or confused to think twice about what Zayn means by that. “Look, will you just tell him I’m sorry?”

Zayn clenches his teeth. “I will, but not for you.”

Louis nods again. He turns to leave and thinks of how he never would have seen the night ending this way, with how wonderful it began, yet again proving that he only makes things worse. That he should have stayed in his own quiet night of killing and being selfish because no one can judge him when he’s alone. And with no one to compare himself to, he can be his own god, his own fallen angel. His own little devil, leaving a trail of blood.

.::.::.

It’s dark when Louis wakes up. He slept in his fishnets and when he takes them off, little diamonds are imprinted all over his skin—like scales. He lays back in bed, with no clothes on and he can’t help but feel wrong. Like he wants out of his skin. Like it isn’t his, anymore.

He closes his eyes, focusing on Harry, wondering if he’ll be able to see him. He hasn’t worked that out yet, doesn’t know how the connection works. He just wants to see if Harry’s okay. But he can’t see him, can’t even hear him from this distance. He knows right away that trying to go back to sleep will be pointless. He’s wide awake. Plus, he can’t stand the way it’s impossible to ignore his rumbling stomach with no distraction except silken sheets and rolling wheels on asphalt.

He showers, but he still has the imprints of scales on his legs. He thinks of the night before, furious that he can’t just wash it away like every other dirty thing. He heads downstairs and almost goes into the kitchen to see if DJ wants help with anything, but he can hear Zayn and her talking before he even reaches the café door. Not wanting to deal with him again, Louis walks through the lobby as quickly as he can at human speed. 

The night rushes in on him from all sides and he’s glad for it. As he walks, it feels like the fresh air is moving right through him, like he doesn’t exist apart from it. It reminds him of how he used to spend his nights. Alone and thirsty for something warm and willing. Sometimes he’d get lucky and find a community of other vampires who had humans ready and willing to donate themselves for their amusement, their nourishment—one with the darkness. The humans wanted to be there because they wanted that darkness or they already had it in them. Most weren’t even Glamoured into being there, which surprised Louis at the time. It doesn’t anymore, not really. Some people are just meant for it. 

He decides to spend the rest of the night searching every inch of the city for a hint of them. He looks in all the usual places: gentleman’s clubs with back alley entrances, old warehouses in the factory district, casinos, pretty high-rise hotels—all to no avail. He takes a shortcut through an alleyway, hoping he’ll have some luck back in the U District. He passes a sleeping body, huddled underneath a tattered sleeping bag. At closer inspection, Louis knows it’s a man. His breathing is steady, his heartbeat a call to Louis’ eager ears. He pauses, realizing that these elite vampires usually know when a new vampire is in town and _they_ seek _you_ out. Since Louis has yet to have left any mysteriously bloodless corpses lying around the city, he’s a little harder to track down. He turns back toward the sleeping man.

Now is the optimal time. It’s the middle of the night, his victim is sleeping and won’t make a sound, and it’ll be the perfect notifier to a vampire community, if there is one, here in Seattle. He doesn't have to be alone anymore. It could even do some good, Louis tells himself, because he can hear the man’s hunger squirming in his stomach; he’s starving and Louis could end that. He could send him to a better place, or a worse one, but maybe anything is better than slowly starving. That’s what will happen if Louis keeps walking, if he doesn’t kill again. They’ll both starve. They’ll both die. There’s no need for them both to die.

He turns and walks back down the way he came. He crouches over the man, putting a hand over his mouth for when he inevitably wakes up. Louis’ ready when he does. The man flinches and tries to scream but the sound is muffled. Louis looks into his wide eyes. 

“ _You are not scared. In fact, you’re glad to see me_ ,” he says. At this, the man stops struggling and his lips smile under Louis’ fingers. He sits back, and the man looks dopily up at him. “I’m going to give you something you’ve been wishing for.”

The man nods, as if he’s always known this moment would happen. “It’s been too long, man.”

“Not long enough,” Louis says with a fangy smile. “This isn’t going to hurt okay? Not one bit.”

“Of course not,” the man says. He’s humming and tapping his toe to some unknown beat.

Louis leans down to drink and he can’t wait to have this hunger gone from him. He closes his eyes just before his fangs touch the skin of the man’s neck and he sees black and white floral sheets through blurry eyes. He jolts back. The man looks up at him confused.

He smiles. “It doesn’t hurt,” he says, like he’s reassuring Louis. “Not one bit.”

Louis closes his eyes again. He sees Harry’s room through tears and he hears gasping, realizing it’s the sound of Harry crying, except it feels like it’s coming from his own chest. Zayn is there holding him, stroking his hair and rocking him back and forth. 

“I thought I was past the worst of it, you know?” Harry says. “I thought I was getting better.”

Zayn’s voice is so soft in a way Louis didn’t think possible. “You are _healing_ , Harry. And healing is a process. I know it feels daunting now, but getting ‘better’ doesn’t just happen overnight.” Zayn brushes a curl out of Harry’s face. “Think of the positives, bub. You’re not having nightmares anymore. You’re okay with being touched and held. You _are_ moving on from what happened, it’s just not that easy. But you _are_ doing it.”

Harry sniffles. “Things were going so well, too. Louis probably thinks I’m some drama queen and he’ll never want to see me again. You say he’s mean and not good for me, but I know you’re wrong and it’s me who’s not good enough.”

Louis opens his eyes and the man is still sitting under him, content as can be. He closes his eyes.

He notices the strain in Zayn’s voice but he doesn’t know if Harry catches it as he says, “Harry, he doesn’t think that. Even if he did, he’d be wrong. He was the one who hurt you. It’s him that should be running to _you_ to apologize.” He takes Harry’s face in his hands, making him look him in the eyes. “You didn’t do anything wrong, babe. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Harry’s vision goes blurry again. “I was doing so good. I was doing so go-”

Louis opens his eyes and the connection fades away. He’s confused why Harry is blaming himself for what happened. Maybe people are all going through something. Something intangible, but real. Like a different kind fairytale, simmering under the surface, while everyone else goes on with life unawares. Louis looks down at the man under him and wonders if there’s anyone out there who misses him, anyone that will miss him if Louis does what he does best. He doesn’t know the answer.

He sighs. “It’s your lucky day, bud.”

“Why? Did I win the lottery?!”

Louis nods. “What’s the first thing you’d do, if you won?”

The man thinks for a moment. “I’d buy a nice suit and a plane ticket to see my kids in Colorado.” He shrugs, like it’s obvious.

“Are you addicted to anything?”

The man laughs. “Oh yeah. Been an alcoholic for eleven years.” He smiles, holding up an old AA pin that says ‘30 Days.’ “But I’ll tell you what, I hate every minute away from them.”

“Well guess what: _you’re not addicted to anything anymore. You’re going to wake up in the morning with no need to drink or do any drugs ever again. In fact, you're going to feel great in the morning. Like you could really do something good with your life_. Okay?”

He smiles, his eyes all pupil and no iris. “You really think so?”

Louis smiles back, his stomach hurting from hunger. “I know so. _Now you’re going to fall back asleep and you won’t remember any of this conversation. You won’t even remember meeting me_.”

The man yawns. Louis stands up as he lays back down, snuggling into his sleeping bag, not knowing he just escaped death by mere chance. Louis was seconds away and once he started he knows he wouldn’t have been able to resist. Especially not twice in two days. With no one around and hunger being the only thing Louis would lose, he wouldn’t have had any reason to resist this time. Louis wonders if the connection with Harry’s mind goes both ways, that maybe seeing things from Harry’s perspective stays with him when he’s back in his own head. He tells himself this is true, because he can’t stomach the thought of doing something so human on his own accord. He shudders. Louis shoves his hands in his pockets as he walks away, toward home. 

Watching the stop lights change colors as we walks through various intersections in the empty night, he realizes he has something in common with that man. If he would have killed him, he’d have died without a ceremony, he’d be nothing but a forgotten shadow. That’s all Louis really is anymore. Just a shadow, growing slimmer and less distinct with every passing night. Maybe not killing this man was better in the long run, but Louis fears death as the only thing waiting for him at the finish line—either Harry’s, or his own.

.::.::.

Louis wakes the next afternoon from a dream of Harry. As he pushes past the grog of wakefulness, he has to remind himself that he can’t dream anymore. The image of Harry staring at his cell phone is interrupted by the ringing of Louis’ phone. It’s charging, resting on the kitchen counter. Louis gets up and takes the duvet with him.

“Hey Harry,” he says with his softest voice, the one he saves only for manipulation. Except now, he’s not trying to manipulate as much as comfort. Those can be the same thing, right?

Harry’s voice is hoarse. Like he’d been smoking or crying, but Louis knows he hates cigarettes. “I’d like to talk to you. Can we meet up? Get coffee or something.”

Louis glances toward his windows, light still shining through the edges of the curtains, wishing things were lighter between them instead and he could reply with a joke. “Yeah, I’d like that. I’m finishing up some cleaning for DJ, but it should only be a little bit longer,” he lies.

He feels the connection with Harry’s mind and closes his eyes. Harry’s sitting on his bed, not really looking at anything. Harry sighs. “Yeah. Text me when you’re almost done, and I’ll come pick you up.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” Harry hangs up.

The weather app says the sun will set at five fifty-seven, which is in twenty-three minutes. Louis guesses his hair could do with a wash, so he showers and by the time he’s dressed the sun’s making it’s last goodbyes through the cracks of his curtains. He texts Harry and is waiting in the stairwell when he arrives.

The air’s tense in the small space of Harry’s car. Harry doesn’t drive off yet, car idling beside the curb. Louis wonders if he’s going to tell him to just get out, when he finally says, “Wanna go for a drive?”

Louis’ confused, but willing. He buckles his seat belt, even though he doesn’t need it. “Where to?”

Harry sets his jaw in reply.

.::.

When Harry said ‘a drive’ he was leaving out the part where he mentioned it would be over two hours long. Louis’ not sure where they are when they stop, but it’s dark enough to see the stars. The last town they passed had a couple restaurants, a post office, a gas station, and a coffee stand and that’s it. There were trees on either side of the road for a few miles and then rolling fields that stretched to the foothills of mountains covered in forrest, lit up by the moon.

Harry had taken a turn down a dirt road to stop in front of an old, white barn. Off to the right, there’s a small house with the same peeling white paint and all the windows dark. He turns off the engine and they sit in the silence for a few moments. Harry takes a deep breath and gets out of the car without saying a word.

Louis just nods and follows suit, not wanting to break the fragile air by speaking. He’s glad to get out of the car after so long; it was starting to smell like nothing but Harry’s blood and it was clouding Louis’ mind.

The sound of their doors closing seems to echo in the vastness. Louis can hear the wind in the trees, a few horses flicking their manes in the barn, and bull frogs singing to each other in the distance. Louis follows Harry to the barn doors and Harry slides one door open just enough for the two the them to pass through. Being out of the wind, it’s a little warmer inside. Still, Louis shivers. Harry closes the door behind them and reaches up to a long string that turns on a dim light bulb, high above them. A horse blows air through it’s lips in response.

Harry walks up to each horse and scratches under their chins and rubs his nose on theirs. One sniffs around and tries nibbling on his hair, which makes Harry smile. Louis can’t understand how a human can make him feel good inside, just from witnessing them pet a goddamn animal. Maybe it’s because horses are mini giants and Harry seems so small in comparison. Or Maybe it’s because Louis knows he could kill every living thing in this barn within sixty seconds or less if he wasn’t feeling tried right now. Or maybe it’s just that the insignificance of everything is all too easy to fathom when you never age. Louis doesn’t allow himself to wonder if maybe, just maybe, it’s the way Harry’s hair looks in the dull, yellow light, that makes him seem more complex than just a human, just blood for him to consume. More than just answers to impossible questions.

When Harry speaks, it sounds too loud in the stale air. “I used to spend every summer here.” He looks back at Louis, who’s still standing in the same spot, near the doors. “For as long as I can remember, I’ve spent every summer here. Until I was old enough to drive.”

Louis wants to ask why this is important, but holds his tongue. 

“My parents didn’t live far, just a few miles on the other side of town.” He grabs a clump of hay from the ground and feeds it to a brown and white horse, with a black mane. He holds his hands flat, letting the horse take what is being given without the possibility of it taking anything more. “Even so, they sent me here in the summers. Some years, more often. They had me later in life and were retired. They sure loved having someone so willing to look after me during their vacations to Italy and Iceland and Australia and any place that wasn’t here. Wasn’t with me.”

Louis feels himself soften at the sound of sadness in Harry’s voice, at the sound of abandonment, and he feels guilty because all he’s ever done is run.

“My grandpa used to own this farm,” Harry continues in a lighter tone. He brushes the horse’s mane out of it’s eyes. “When he died, I suggested my parents sell it. They said no. Thought I was being rude and thoughtless. _This farm is your grandfather’s legacy, Harry_ ,” he mocks. “They never believed me.”

Louis moves closer and leans against the stall door. “Never believed what?”

Harry’s voice shakes. “They moved here and now we spend family holidays in that awful fucking house. I hardly visit them, anymore. I ca-can’t. That house. All I see when I’m in there is—”

Louis is beside him and takes his hand so he’ll stop petting the horse’s fur manically. Harry moves to him and rests his head on Louis’ shoulder. He doesn’t cry, not like he did in Zayn’s arms. But he still shows some broken parts. Louis doesn’t need any more details; he knows how it all played out. Harry’s grandpa hurting him, taking advantage of him—it makes Louis sick, which is saying something coming from a murderous vampire. But he never killed children. He never could do something so cruel. And Louis is furious that Harry’s grandpa is already dead because now he can’t kill him, can’t make him pay for what he did. For hurting Harry. He realizes _he_ should pay, too. For nearly killing him, for pushing him, for being too dark and eclipsing Harry’s light. It’s different with him, though. Louis is supposed to be a monster, but humans aren’t.

Harry shakes his head in disbelief. “You know, on his deathbed, he had the audacity to tell me he regretted everything he did to me? Can you believe that? Like, thanks I’m glad you feel sorry for ‘indulging your desires,’ but I’m fucking broken now. I’m—” Harry swallows. “It’s just not fair that he gets the peace of death and I’m stuck living with his fucked up mistakes.”

Louis tucks Harry’s hair behind his ears, trying to think of the right words to say. He feels guilty for reminding Harry of something so traumatizing. He almost Glamours him into forgetting everything that’s happened to him, from summers with his grandfather to Louis pushing him against the mirror, but he doesn’t. If there’s one thing Louis knows for certain, running from your problems and hiding yourself from the truth does nothing but make you more a part of the darkness you’re trying to escape. By running, you never accept it, and if you don’t accept it, it eats you alive. Harry deserves more than that.

“Harry,” Louis says then pauses, like he’s tasting his name for the first time. “I’m sorry for being physical with you. I know it sounds small and insignificant in comparison to what you’ve been dealing with, but blood—” He bites his lip focusing on the pain so his fangs don't spring at the thought. A shiver runs down his back. He closes his eyes, and lies. “I have a very serious phobia of blood. I should have mentioned before, but I was embarrassed. I wish I would have because then I might not have hurt you.”

Harry leans back to look down at him. “I like you, Louis, I do. But I can’t really handle more than my own shit right now. I’m still getting used to the idea of being okay on my own. I don’t mind helping with things you’re coping with, but I won’t stand for violence. I want to continue seeing you because I believe you’re a good person, but if that ever happens again? That’s it.”

Louis can tell Harry’s serious. He also knows that he has vampire mind control, so he’s not so worried. Although, he doesn’t really think it’ll come to that, not again. But he can’t entirely speak for his future actions with as much confidence; he’s not sure how he’ll act or when his instincts to survive will outweigh his want for answers or whatever this is between them. The fact that he’s resisted feeding twice doesn’t mean shit. The truth is, he’s never gone this long without feeding so he’s not even sure what true desperation will make him do. Because he never lets himself get that far gone. He hasn’t been desperate since that night he left the reservoir. He made a vow to never feel that way again. Now, he’s not that sure he can keep that promise.

In response to Harry, Louis nods. “It won’t happen again,” he promises, because he can. If it does happen, Louis can make him forget. Harry won’t ever know if it happens, so it’s the same as it not happening at all. Secrets never hurt Louis before, and they won’t start now. 

“How can you know that?”

“Because I know I don't want to hurt you. Or lose you.” He’s scared at how much he wants believes his own lies.

“I don’t get it,” Harry says, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t trust you after what you did, I know that. But I do? And it usually takes more for me to trust people, but I feel like I can just like, spill myself to you.”

Louis understands perfectly. Becoming a vampire means you gain this trustable look that lets people get comfortable with you without knowing why or even caring to question it. Some people see through it, though. Louis thinks of DJ, of Zayn. He sees through Louis like glass. DJ’s different, somehow. It’s like she sees through him, but trusts him anyway. Like she sees something behind the glass that gives her hope. But Harry is not like them, Harry’s just another human, fooled enough by a shimmering surface to not see into the dark depths. 

Louis cups Harry’s face in his hand. “And I don’t usually let people close enough to open up to me, or vice versa. But I’m trying to be better.” Louis considers this and thinks it might not be a complete lie. The only people who get close to him end up dead, so he guesses he is trying. Whatever that means.

Harry smiles, but in a strained way, like he’s not ready to accept happiness so quickly. Like he doesn’t want to accept his feelings of trust and second chances because maybe a part of him knows that they aren’t real. And maybe he would be right to question Louis. Maybe Harry _should_ learn to trust his gut. Louis’ glad he doesn’t, not just because he’s power-hungry and bloodthirsty, but because maybe he just wants a warm hand to hold him through the night. Because maybe Harry’s not the only boy who thinks he’s broken.

They get in the car and drive. Harry doesn’t look back, and neither does Louis.

.::.::.

The next couple weeks are tense. Louis’ trying to navigate earning Harry’s trust back in a way that takes more energy than he thought it would. Or maybe he’s just more tired than usual. It doesn’t help that he isn’t used to not getting what he wants as soon as he wants it, either. Maybe it’s privileged and fucked up, but it’s hard after so long with so much freedom. And, on top of all that, Harry’s been buried in books and coffee and—more specifically everything that’s _not_ Louis—but he knows it’s midterms. Louis just doesn’t like the thought of something taking up more of Harry’s time than himself. But he’s starting to get used to the idea that he isn’t actually the center of the universe. It’s just, different.

Currently, Harry’s pulling an all nighter at UW’s library with Niall, and Louis wants to surprise him with warm coffee, a snack, and—if he’s lucky—a few quick kisses between bookshelves. Niall had given him the low-down of where they’re studying and even gave Louis directions.

Niall, Louis realized, is ferociously kind but equally protective. Once Harry made it clear that Louis was given a second chance, Niall was supportive of his decision, but skeptical. He gave Louis a talking-to that was outwardly nothing but pleasant, but the grip of his hand and the look in his eyes told Louis that he better not screw this up. He had made a mental note to not let Harry bleed in his presence ever again. Futile, he knew, but it gave off the impression that he actually was trying. And, would it be all that bad if he really was?

Louis’ phone vibrates in his pocket. It’s a text from Niall: _WARNING! subject is headed to the little boy’s room, i repeat, subject is headed to the little boy’s room_

Louis laughs to himself. _still a few minutes away, should be fine lol_

When he enters the library doors, Louis’ hit in the face with the smell of books and coffee. The sounds of shuffling feet, turning pages, typing keyboards, exasperated breath, pens scribbling notes, and heartbeats all mesh into one chaotic song and Louis sighs, closing his eyes. He tunes out each sound around him until he can hear the one sound that he cares about right now. One single heart beating on the fifth floor. He opens his eyes and heads for the stairs.

By the time he’s on he last flight, he’s embarrassed at how winded he is. He regrets not feeding when he had the chance in the alleyway that night. He stops to breathe for a moment at the top of the stairs. He texts Niall, _the rabbit it approaching the hole, the rabbit is approaching the hole._ Niall sends back a laughing emoji. He hears Harry ask him what he’s laughing at and Niall feigns innocence and says, “Nothing,” too quickly.

Louis rounds a corner and sees Niall pretending to be intently reading a book, and Harry looking annoyed at being both distracted and obviously lied to by his best friend. Since Niall is expecting him, he notices Louis in the corner of his eyes and furrows his brows as if his Econ book is really that interesting.

Harry sighs. “Oh, so _now_ you’re quiet. Where was this bout of silence when I started math?” He settles in to finish his math homework, but notices someone lurking a bit too close and glances up then back down to his book. He does a double-take and a smile blooms on his face. He kicks Niall gently under the table, “You ass.”

Niall just shrugs.

“Hi, love,” Louis says. He holds out a thermos of coffee in offering. Harry takes it and Louis reaches in his bag for two tupperware containers. One has soup, the other has two scones. “I thought you could do with some warm coffee and a snack? To keep you focused, or something.” 

Harry continues to smile, but it’s a smile that’s smaller, almost like he’s smiling to himself or smiling because he can’t help it. He opens the soup lid and closes his eyes, smelling the steam. Louis tries to focus on the revolting smell of the soup instead of on the way Harry’s blood is begging him to drink it.

“DJ’s cooking is magical.” He opens his eyes and a gestures to Niall to see if he wants any. (He does.) Louis pulls out two small bowls and two spoons and Harry gives him a look. “You’re not having some?”

Louis spreads a satisfied grin to his lips and rests his palm on his empty stomach. “I ate before I came,” he lies, and Harry believes him.

Louis sits beside Harry with his bag on the table in front of him.

“So when can I meet DJ and kiss her beautiful hands for cooking the best soup I’ve ever had,” Niall says.

Harry’s mouth is full when he replies, addressing Louis, “Should indra-doosh dem.”

Louis laughs. “They would get along, huh?”

Harry winks, not chancing another full-mouthed reply.

Niall groans. “But then I have to go there and buy food in order to talk to her and I have $1.64 in my bank account after paying rent.”

“She doesn’t care about superficial things like that. Plus, who could turn away your endless charm?”

Louis thinks Niall blushes but he can’t tell if it’s just from the hot soup or not. “You’re just saying that because you want me to like you.”

Louis pretends he’s weighing his feelings against what Niall just said. “Eh, maybe,” he says, laughing. He’s glad to be here, glad he knows Niall a bit more, even if he’s still embarrassed about the time when they had to cut dinner short early he yakked in the alleyway. And the time he pushed Harry into the mirror.

Harry slurps the last of his soup out of his bowl and licks his lips. He flops his head to the side and says, “Thanks, babe. I needed that.”

The way Harry’s eyes gleam in the yellow light of the library makes Louis feel light inside. He thinks Harry looks unreal surrounded by old books and drab brown carpet, with the smell of aged paper and dust. He’s too bright and young in comparison, too clean and cute. Louis wants to kiss him against the spines of books he’ll never read and pretend everything is normal with them for once. Pretend he isn’t slowly starving. Pretend this could last.

Instead, he presses a small kiss on the tip of Harry’s nose, hoping it says everything he’s feeling and more.

Harry smiles, but doesn’t move, just sits there, looking up into Louis’ eyes. Louis wonders if this means they’re okay now, if this means things are getting better.

A few more moments pass before Niall cups his hands around his mouth and says, “Get a room!” with a lilt in his laugh like he’s not actually bothered by them in the least. Louis guesses Niall’s happy for Harry. And proud that he’s found someone who he trusts and wants to spend time with. Louis’ glad Harry has someone like Niall. 

Harry puts his textbook up like a divider and puckers his lips. Louis kisses him like they’re in elementary school and “making out” equated to a steady stream of peck-kisses and lots of smooching sounds. They’re hardly blocked by their makeshift privacy shield, which makes it all more funny to them. They giggle and break apart when Niall throws an eraser at them. He rolls his eyes. “Couples,” he mutters, as if he’s annoyed, turning back to his Econ book. Louis knows he’s not. 

When Louis walks home an hour or so later, he wonders if it’s bad that he’s starting to call Harry his boyfriend in his head. He thinks of Alki Beach and sinks. It’s definitely bad.

.::.::.

Louis’ working when it happens. He’s cleaning up a table and almost drops the dishes on the way to the kitchen. He hears soft moans and slick sounds of hands on skin. He looks around and when nothing seems amiss in the shop, he recognizes the quick breath of Harry. He blinks and sees Harry’s room in dim lighting and the sight of Harry’s naked body from Harry’s point of view.

He sets the dishes in the sink and goes back out to the floor because new customers just walked in. He tries (and fails) to not pay attention to what Harry is doing. 

“Hey there! Feel free to sit wherever you want, and I’ll be with you in just a moment,” Louis says. He pretends to clean the espresso machine while he attempts to level his breathing.

When he feels somewhat composed, he heads to their table. “How’s you’re night going?”

“Taking a break from studying. You?” one of them says.

He makes the mistake of blinking and sees Harry’s hand pumping himself. He moans Louis’ name. Louis opens his eyes and the three college students are staring at him, waiting for a response.

“Oh—sorry, yeah I’m good. A lot on my mind, I guess,” he says, which is an incredible understatement. He can hear Harry’s bed moving as he thrusts into his hand.

They all nod. “Midterms,” one of them says. Like that’s the reason Louis is so out of it right now.

He takes their coffee orders and drops off the ticket for their food in the kitchen. DJ asks him something but Harry is gasping and his hips are moving without his control and Louis can’t focus on anything but the sound of Harry moaning his name. 

“Louis?” DJ says. Louis knows his eyes are probably glazed over. He tries to shift his gaze to her. “You okay?”

Harry finishes, coming over his hand. Louis guesses his face probably looks a bit stunned when he just nods and laughs nervously in her direction before turning and walking through the swinging door.

.::.::.

“Louis you’re not even holding them up right!” Harry says exasperatedly. He reaches across the table to yank the notecards from Louis’ hands.

Harry’s spending the night studying at DJ’s, pulling another all-nighter. Louis’ working, but it’s slow, so he helps Harry study. Wednesdays are DJ’s nights off, which means no kitchen food, just pastries and cold sandwiches. Things Louis’ perfectly capable of handling alone, just as long as he can hide the way he gags at the feel of the slimy, cold lunchmeat—which he’s gotten surprisingly good at.

Louis holds a hand to his chest, pretending to be offended. “Excuse me, Mr. I Need My Mind To Be Challenged, reading upside-down helps you remember things better.”

Harry scoffs. “It makes reading harder and studying impossible.” He flips through the notecards, answering them to himself under his breath, then turning each card over to either grunt in dissatisfaction or swear at every answer he gets right, proving he’s smarter and better by yelling at it.

“Harry.”

Harry finishes the card in his hands, getting it correct—“Take that, punk!”—before looking up. “Yeah?”

“Can I help? I won’t be an ass.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Doubt it.” But he hands the cards over anyway, with a hint of a smile on the edge of his lips.

Louis shuffles the cards, in case Harry knew the order, then starts. “Bahrain.”

“Manama. Boom.”  
It’s Louis’ turn to roll his eyes. “Correct. Cyprus.”

Harry has to think a bit longer on this one, but ultimately gets it right. “Nicosia.”

“Tajikistan.”

Harry bites on the insides of his cheeks, leaving his lips in a cute, though over exaggerated, pucker. “Starts with a B?”

“Cold,” Louis answers.

Harry contorts his face, as if doing so will somehow make his answer closer to correct. “It has a B in it?”

Louis laughs. “Warmer.”

“Ugh, I’m going to fail this section of the test.” Harry lets out a huff. “What is it, hit me with the low ball.”

“Dushanbe,” Louis says, but he thinks he probably pronounced it wrong.

“Fuck, I fucking knew that!” And Louis smiles, realizing that Harry doesn’t save the swearing just for the answers he gets right.

Once they’ve gone through the flashcards until Harry gets every one right, Harry asks, “What classes are you taking?” He gets out different textbooks and his laptop.

“I don’t go to school.” Louis maybe leaves out the part where he never graduated from high school.

Harry falters. “Oh, I’m sorry. I just assumed.” He flips his pencil around between his index and middle finger. “How have we never talked about this before?”

Louis shrugs. “We’ve had our minds on other things, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Harry says. Louis guesses he’s thinking about his grandfather and wonders how far off Harry’s guess is to what he’s thinking about. Instead of dwelling on his lies, Louis asks, “What classes are you taking?”

“Well, I’m taking a math class, an english class, and Geography of the Middle East, which you already know by now.” He makes a face that says both ‘I’m sorry,’ and ‘thank you,’ all at once and Louis smiles in return. “Just getting my general classes out of the way for now.”

Harry looks at all his books strewn on the table, and pushes them to one side to make room for his computer. Louis likes the sound of the little fans and electrical circuits shooting and humming to life when he turns on his computer. “You know what’s fucked up?”

Louis gets up and grabs the broom and is starting to move chairs aside to sweep. He has an uneasy feeling inside when his breathing fades from steady to heavy and hard, or something close to that. He clears his throat, hoping to clear away all this strangeness, too. But he knows what Harry’s going to say; he’s heard that tone and a version of this speech more than once before. “Society?”

“Exactly!” Harry says, dropping his pencil and calculator like they’re going to shock him if they touch or if he holds them long enough. “Why should I apologize for assuming you’re in school? Why do I have to assume that to begin with just because we’re both in our twenties?” 

Louis just shrugs, not trusting his lungs enough to answer.

“It’s like, there are so many things to do and learn in the world and not all of them require a fucking Bachelor’s degree. We’re more than just our formal education or a slip of stupid paper. It’s just paper, you know?”

“When you think about it, though, everything’s like that,” Louis says, pausing from his sweeping. “Money’s just paper. Postal stamps are just sticky paper. Clothes are all the same but if I buy mine at GoodWill and you get yours from Nordstrom, which are more valued?” _If I need blood to survive while you need food and water, how different does that really make us?_ Louis shakes his head at himself. He’s just tired and not used to getting out of breath. That’s all.

Harry thinks, picking up his pencil. “If things had gone differently, if we had developed another way, we wouldn’t have all this meaningless shit. It’d be more real. Not just objects made up of nothing but useless ideologies.” He draws with the eraser of his pencil, leaving traces of pink rubber bits in the shape of a crude face.

Louis walks over to him and brushes Harry’s hair back from his face. “Not everything is meaningless.” Louis kisses his forehead and moves to stand behind him. His hands move with muscle memory as he brushes his hands through Harry’s hair, forming sections, and weaving them together. 

He remembers back to before, when he’d help his mother get his two youngest sisters ready for bed. After their baths, he’d sit with them and braid their hair as they read him stories form their storybooks, stumbling over new words only for him to catch them and put all the right sounds together. Louis’ chest tightens at the memory.

“Gotta hair pretty?” Louis asks.

“Hair pretty?” Harry looks up at Louis, in a soft way. Like he’s not sure if he should laugh or not, but positive he wants to.

Louis clears his throat. “It’s what my little sister used to call them. Phoebe. ‘Cause they make your hair pretty. I always liked it. Innocent, in a way, you know?”

Harry smiles, eyes searching. He pulls one from his wrist and holds it up. “How old is she now?”

Louis’ eyes drop. “Thirteen.” He puts on his This Doesn’t Bother Me face and ties the end of Harry’s french braid. “But I haven’t seen her in years. I haven’t seen or talked to any of them, actually.”

Harry turns to look up at him. His eyes ask the question his mouth doesn’t have to.

Louis shrugs. “I didn’t leave home on a good note.”

“And that’s reason to just drop all communication with a family who did nothing but love and support you?”

Anger flares up in Louis before he can take the time to actually understand why Harry seems so offended by Louis leaving and never looking back. “You really don’t know anything about them or what my life was like, actually.”

If he really thinks about it, he knows that after having traumatic experiences invalidated and shrugged off by the two people who were supposed to be taking care of him, it’s only natural that Harry would be upset that Louis just ran away from his family. But he’s not thinking. He’s pissed because he left for a pretty damn good reason but he can’t tell Harry that because then he’d have to tell Harry how he got turned into a vampire. And that’s a completely off-limits of topic of conversation.

Harry turns back to face his books and notes and quiet whirring computer. “Yeah, because you don’t talk about them.” He sighs and Louis thinks he closes his eyes. “You know what I _do_ know? From what little you have shared, I know that nothing could have made me walk away from what you had.”

“This isn’t a competition to see who’s life was more fucked up, Harry,” he says because everything else on the tip of his tongue is a touch too close to everything he’s been trying to forget.

“Still!” Harry says, midterms and studying apparently forgotten. “It’s shocking to find out how little you care for your family when, up until this point, I got so much hope and happiness from the thought of you having what I didn’t. Because yeah, some pretty shitty things happened to me, but I met you. And I care about you. I was glad that at least you were safe and happy. But to find out you threw it all away. And for what?”

Louis is half tempted to drop his fangs and show Harry why. Why he had to leave and how leaving when he did actually showed he cared then, more than ever. But he can’t tell Harry that. It hurts enough that he could never explain himself to his family, and now he’s met someone that maybe could mean something to him and now there’s no way around the truth, but no way through it either.

“Don’t you dare try to tell me I don’t care about my family. I am constantly reminded of them in everything I do. But that hurts so I just push it down. I wish I didn’t have to leave, but I don’t regret it for a second.” With these confessions, his anger seems to ebb and in it’s wake lies a dull, empty ache fueled by years of repressed emotions and half-forgotten memories. “Sometimes,” he says quietly, “leaving can be an act of love.”

Harry’s shoulders slump and his eyes tell a different kind of story. One of sorrow and regret and sorries. Louis has a suspicion that Harry has told his share of unnecessary ‘sorries,’ more than were meant for him. “Being on the receiving end of people walking out on you, I find that hard to believe.”

Louis nods. He holds out his hand, palm up: an invitation for Harry to hold. He takes it and Louis says, “I can’t imagine what growing up in your shoes could have possibly been like, so I won’t tell you ‘I get it.’ But I can tell you that my life wasn’t easy. My mom worked two jobs, everyday. Days and nights. Most days, I was the only one home to take care of my sisters. We didn’t have money, we didn’t have nice things. Yes, we had each other and we were safe, but I’m just saying that it wasn’t The Perfect American Family. It was hard, everyday.” 

He looks down at Harry’s hand in his and doesn’t feel right. There’s something about the warmth of Harry’s skin that makes Louis sad. He’ll never be this kind of sweet inside, never be the right kind of gentle or warm. He’ll never be able to look into his mom’s eyes without being ashamed or scared of what she might find in him. She always did see the good in him, though. Louis just wonders, if there’s no good left inside, what would she find? 

He hasn’t thought about actually going back, not for years. Louis thinks back to the night he left Moose River, Maine, forever. It had been dark, probably past midnight but he didn’t know exactly because he was drunk and shouldn’t have been driving. His friends had tried taking his keys back at the reservoir, but he managed to get past them. He had to get home because his sisters were alone and his mom wouldn’t be home for hours. He’d lost track of the time; he wasn’t supposed to stay that long. He wasn’t supposed to get so drunk. He had to make sure they were okay.

He was thinking about how he would sneak back into his house without waking them up, when he saw her: a beautiful woman with dark hair and a blue dress, walking in the middle of the road. He probably could have swerved around her, but in his drunken state he jerked too hard on the steering wheel, veered off the road, and smashed into the tree line. Maybe if he hadn’t been speeding, maybe if he’d been wearing a seatbelt, maybe if he hadn’t been driving drunk, maybe then he wouldn’t have been thrown through his shattered windshield and onto the hood of his car, unable to move anything from the neck down.

The woman came into his field of vision. He remembers thinking how strange it was for a girl to be wearing nothing but a thin dress when the frost of winter had barely started to melt. 

She clicked her tongue as she surveyed the magnitude of the crash. She stepped closer and brushed Louis’ hair out of this eye. “Oh honey, you were not going the recommended speed limit,” she said.

Louis tried to ask how she could actually know that, but there was blood in his mouth and all that came out was a scraggled, “How?” 

She smiled, but something wasn’t right. He thought maybe he had started hallucinating, because this woman couldn’t possibly have actual fangs. “I guess I just have a sixth sense,” she said, leaning down and licking blood off his forehead. Then, in the time it took for him to blink, she’d sunk her fangs in his neck.

Sitting across from Harry, Louis clears his throat. “But, at the end, I had rather them think I was dead than have them see who I had become.” Eleanor ended up wanting to keep him alive, make him into something she could have and hold and do her bidding. He did things for her because he had no one else and she was the only one that was there for him. Because he couldn’t go back. He couldn’t.

Harry shakes his head. “Louis, anyone would be proud of who you are.”

Louis sighs. Harry’s wrong but he’ll never understand because Louis can’t tell him. He stands up to finish sweeping because he can’t look at Harry anymore. Can’t see that unyielding love that’s probably not even real. “I don’t even know who that is, Harry. How could anyone be proud of a fucking enigma?”

Harry shrugs, watching him sweep. When Louis blinks, he sees himself through Harry’s eyes. His cheeks look almost gaunt in the dim lights and his shoulder blades arch in sharp movements under his shirt with every sweep of his broom. It’s eerie to see himself in this way, in the third person. It’s weirder, still, to see this weaker, smaller version of himself. Something so unlike what he should be.

“I am,” Harry says. Like that’s it, that’s all that needs to be said on the matter. He doesn’t know the half of it. Sure, Harry can believe he’s proud of who Louis is, but the ‘Louis’ he knows is a flamboyant lie masquerading as someone capable of emotions like empathy or love. He hasn’t seen the things Louis has done. “Even if I don’t fully understand everything about you, I’m proud of you.”

Louis doesn’t know what to say, so he just smiles in what probably isn’t a very reassuring way and goes into the back to get the mop bucket ready. He tries to dull his thoughts by focusing on the steady thud of water hitting plastic but Harry’s words stick in him like slivers he can feel but can’t get out. Harry’s proud of a façade, a fiction. He’s probably only stuck around this long because of the Glamours Louis has used on him. Louis had thought it would be fun to figure out what was real and what wasn’t when it came to Harry’s true feelings, because he never used to care as long as he was getting what he wanted.

It just scares him to realize that the truth matters now.

.::.::.

Louis is standing in Fred Meyer, with produce on all sides, trying to remember which fruits last the longest. He wants something that will keep well so he can get the most time for his buck. But, for the life of him, he can’t remember anything other than the fact he hates bananas—or, well, hated bananas before he started hating all food in general.

It kind of bothers him, that he can’t remember. Even though fruits and veggies don’t matter at all. It’s little things, like that. He can remember his sisters’ faces perfectly. He can remember the type of tea he used to love, and the way his mother used to look at him in the mornings before school. But he can’t remember just the way Lottie always smiled when she was caught in a lie, which way he held his tea bag to keep it from falling in his face when he took a sip, or just the right shade of his mother’s hair. In the beginning, he hated the memories, hated that leaving everything behind hurt so bad. But after a while, the memories were cloudy and he lost touch of what made them _real_. He began resenting who he used to be. What he used to be. He guesses he’s come full circle. Back to wishing he remembered things and wishing that once he does, it didn’t hurt anymore. Even after the last few years and after all he’s done, memories always make things worse. 

He ends up just grabbing a couple avocados, a few apples, and a bundle of bananas—because, who is he kidding, he’s not actually going to be eating them—before heading toward the bakery. He smiles, glad he remembers how much he used to love donuts, of all things. The smell of baking bread and all the sugar on the air takes him back to easier times; times he would sneak away to steal donuts for his sisters when he was supposed to be watching them. Times his biggest worry was finishing his homework, or hoping Nick didn’t notice that his eyes lingered a bit too long in the locker room. But he can’t remember which donuts were Fizzie’s favorites or what side of the locker room the showers were on and he’s starting to resent this entire damn grocery store. 

He doesn’t realize he’s stopped in the middle of the walkway until someone catches his attention.

“Hey, you’re a friend of Harry’s, right?” he says. “I saw you at his halloween party.”

He’s tall with short, cropped hair and wearing a basketball jersey. Louis wants to tell him to put on a jacket because it’s below freezing outside already. He holds his tongue and says hi instead, pulling his own coat closer around him. “Hi, yeah. We’re actually kind of dating.”

“Oh, really?” He pauses for a second and Louis is already judging him for what he’s probably thinking. “You know, Harry’s a really great guy so, try and keep him around, yeah?”

Louis smiles, surprised. “That’s the plan,” he says, playing the part of a decent human.

“Well, I’m Chad, by the way.” He holds out his hand for Louis to shake.

“Louis,” he says, stunned to see that maybe humanity has gotten better compared to how he remembers it, but maybe he’s only remembering the bad things. Then again, his memory isn’t at its best right now. The good memories are always halfway or fuzzy or both, and the bad are clear as day, or as clear a day that he can try and remember.

“See ya around!” Chad says, heading off toward the deli. 

“Bye,” Louis says, almost too quietly, almost to himself.

.::.::.

Niall is hanging by the counter talking to DJ, and is asking about the shop, and the pastries, and god knows what else—Louis has stopped paying close attention at this point. Niall is using any topic just to have an excuse to talk to DJ. He totally thinks she’s cute, Louis could tell by the way his heartbeat leapt when he saw her for the first time, and she’s smiling, so that’s something.

“How do you think it’s going?” Harry asks. He’s holding Louis’ hand on the countertop where they sit at a corner table. Louis had made them some hot chocolate (to share), and they’re drinking out of it with two straws like a Proper Serious Couple. Not that they’re actually serious, but maybe Louis hopes so to himself as a lie or as a joke or as an attempt to appear more human. Even though no one is monitoring his thoughts, so really, who is he trying to prove?

Louis shrugs. He could listen in on their convo, but honestly he’s tired—and it’s only nine o’clock. He couldn’t get to sleep this morning, and had barely fallen asleep by noon only to be woken up a handful of hours later, by his own angry body. “DJ’s smiling, so that’s a good thing, right?”

Harry thinks and takes a sip of coco. “M’not sure. She has a look in her eye that says she knows what he’s trying to do.”

Louis turns around to see. “Yeah, but she’s sweet. She knows he’s probably nervous,” he says, finding the whole thing oddly familiar. He looks back to Harry and watches the small ways Harry’s hand moves within his own, feeling where his rough skin turns to smooth palm. He takes in his warmth letting it distract him from everything else, which, lately isn’t all that difficult anymore. Except when it comes to his heartbeat. It’s becoming overwhelming how he can’t tune-out anyone’s heartbeat. It gets hard to think sometimes. So the warmth—Louis thinks about Harry’s warmth.

“While I’m a huge advocate for self-love and independent growth, Niall needs someone, you know?” Harry tears his eyes away from the potentially budding couple to look at Louis. His eyes land on Louis’ and move to his nose, to his lips and back again while he talks. “As much as he jokes about ‘ _couples_ ’ and says he doesn’t mind being the third wheel, I think he’s really lonely.”

Louis squeezes Harry’s hand and feels his pulse against his skin. “He’ll find someone. He’s too kind to not.”

Niall turns back to the table, looking totally confused. He slumps next to Louis, so his back is facing the back of the shop. “Tell me you didn’t know,” he says to Louis.

“I didn’t know,” Louis replies. After a moment, he asks, “What is it that I didn’t know?”

“DJ’s gay!” Niall whispers. “I mean, that’s fine obviously, I just wish I didn’t just make a fool of myself.”

Harry makes kind eyes toward his best friend. “Ni, you didn’t make a fool of yourself.”

Niall shrugs. “Well, now I’m That Straight Guy who hit on her that she’s probably sick of dealing with.”

To that, Louis and Harry don’t really know what to say, because, well, it’s honestly probably true. Louis thinks back to his and Harry’s conversation about gender binaries and societal norms and realizes again that he didn’t escape that when he escaped humanity. He throws an arm around Niall’s shoulders and hugs him to his side. “How about some coffee? Or coco? Or—” He wants to suggest food from the back, but that means he’d probably have to eat too and he can’t stomach that right now. “—something?”

Niall sighs. “Maybe a mocha?” 

Louis smiles. “Of course.”

He heads to the counter and catches DJ watching him. He sees her eyeing the way his clothes hang around his body, the same clothes that fit him so snugly when they first met. He stands up taller, hoping the squaring of his shoulders will make it appear he’s taking up more space. Make it appear like he’s not starving. He trips over the lip of where the hardwood floors turn to linoleum and he feels a kind of tension in the air. He looks up and sees the end of a meaningful glance between Harry and DJ. Harrys eyes move too quickly back to Louis when he sees Louis watching and he smiles, as if him tripping was cute and quirky and not cause for alarm. But Louis knows no one is fooled, not even himself. 

“Thanks for telling your friends to hit on me,” DJ says, but her voice is playful. 

Louis throws up his hands in front of his chest. “I just said you two would get along.”

She clicks her tongue, shaking her head. “Straight boys need to stop getting so butt-hurt about the one gay girl they hit on. Like there are literally billions of straight girls out there. The odds are already in their favor, you know?”

Louis nods, kind of knowing what that’s like. “A couple of close girl friends from high school felt I was ‘leading them on,’ when I was merely being a decent human instead of the jack-holes they usually hung around.” He shrugs, like that’s how it is and that’s how it always will be. But he thinks about how that’s exactly what Niall was worried about and he remembers being surprised by Harry’s friend Chad’s seemingly utter lack of disgust or any negative feelings for him and Harry dating. Maybe the world won’t always be this or that, gay or straight, boy or girl, mortal or immortal, full of binaries that are impossible to stay within. But right now, it all seems kind of futile to fight against.

DJ shakes her head again, this time with a smirk. “Straight people,” she says like it’s an inside joke, and it kind of is.

Louis smiles. “Can’t live with ‘em….” His sentence trails off from the common phrase as he starts walking back to his table. DJ rolls her eyes and salutes her coffee as if to agree.

Louis slides Niall his drink, and gets a distracted thanks in return, before he sits beside Harry this time, not wanting to miss any more glances between him and DJ. Harry and Niall are talking about the results of their midterms and about the classes they’re thinking of taking next quarter. Louis takes tiny sips of what’s left of his and Harry’s hot chocolate because Harry keeps passing it back to him when Louis tries to pawn it off on him. He claims he’s “already drank most of it,” not realizing Louis’ stomach honestly can’t take this right now. But Harry won’t let up and DJ is eyeing them, so he sucks down the rest through both straws. He jokingly raises his eyebrows at Harry, tilting the cup to prove he finished it. He immediately knows this was a mistake. He feels a gag coming and politely excuses himself for the bathroom. He smiles at DJ, even though he knows it probably looks more like a grimace than anything, but he’s just trying to make it to the bathroom in time. 

He almost doesn’t. As soon as he shuts the door behind him, he throws up in the sink, not able to walk the two steps to the toilet. He’s glad he’s only had liquids so the clean up process isn’t bad. He splashes water on his face and has a sense of deja vu. He was in this bathroom, months ago, with a fuller face and brighter eyes. He still doesn’t know what to look for when he thinks about what’s missing from him. He doesn’t know what he sees when he looks at himself anymore. He’s not human, but he’s nothing like the vampire he once was. He’s some half-ling bordering life and love leaning dangerously closer to death every day. 

He splashes his face with water again, not ready for the looks he knows he’ll get when he heads back to the floor. He can handle DJ, it’s Harry’s worried eyes that get him. He’s already dealing with his own shit and doesn’t need Louis’ on top of it. He doesn’t want to be the cause for more trouble than he’s worth. But, honestly, if that were true Louis would have left already. He just can’t stand the look on Harrys face when this happens, the look that tells Louis he knows he’s hiding something. It just makes it worse to know that Harry probably thinks he can help, that he thinks he can fix what’s broken in Louis. He wonders if it would make Harry feel any better to know no one can fix this kind of broken. 

He thinks longingly of his bed upstairs and opens the door.

.::.::.

“Guess who I ran into today on campus?” Harry asks.

“Who?” Louis replies, making sure to sit as still as possible while also making sure to breathe. Harry wanted a homework break so he showed up to Louis’ place with a bag of make-up and an excited smile. So Louis is sitting still on his toilet while Harry applies some sort of cold lotion on his nose, cheeks, and forehead. He’s glad for the overwhelming scent of old powder and lipstick and whatever else Harry has in his bag. It helps mask the scent of Harry’s blood from clouding up the small bathroom.

He sets down the lotion stuff and starts applying some brownish powder to Louis’ eyelids. “My old best friend slash ex boyfriend.”

Louis wonders why he’s mentioning this. “Yeah? How was that?”

“Eh.” With his eyes still closed, Louis hears Harry shrug. “Weird, I guess, but good. I haven’t seen him since senior prom. We were gonna go together. But our town was so small and being gay was not okay at all. I wanted to go anyway. Prove them all wrong. He didn’t want to get beat up. I waited for him, but he never showed up.” 

Harry bites his upper lip in concentration. He’s now applying a liquid eyeliner barely above Louis’ lash line. Louis furrows his eyebrows a hair to show his concern but not enough to mess Harry up. “How’d you two start seeing each other?”

Harry smiles to himself. “We were just best friends for a while. I was in Yearbook and took all the pictures for the sports teams. He was the star point guard, popular, and I was the shy guy who always had a camera in my face. All that cliché shit.” He pauses to switch brushes and motions for Louis to pucker his lips like a fish before gently brushing a soft line of blush from Louis ear to just under his cheekbones. “I interviewed him for a blurb about basketball and we just hit it off.”

“Still, how’d either of you try anything without being scared the other would freak out?”

“I wanted to for a long time. But I was confused with—everything—and yeah, but nothing happened until the summer before senior year. We would hang out a lot just us, and he was getting up to head home cause I was falling asleep, right?” He licks his lips and selects a lipstick from his bag. “I don’t even really remember what I said but I remember grabbing his hand and then he lied down on the couch with me and we just slept. It was always different after that.”

Louis watches Harry’s focused eyes and steady hands. He’s amazed because he never had the courage to tell Nick he had a crush on him. He wanted to everyday, but he was always too scared of rejection—or worse, the social retaliation after word got around he hit on a boy. He’s surprised and proud of Harry in more ways he thought he could be. Harry catches sight of Louis staring at him and smiles with half his mouth, like he’s shy or embarrassed or something.

“You are a very brave, strong person,” Louis says, surprising even himself.

Harry blushes, shaking his head. “Not always.”Louis shakes his head, more sternly. He rests a hand on Harry’s cheek and says, “Maybe you don’t think so—”

Harry takes Louis’ hand off his face and holds it in his, and interrupts him. “No, Lou, I wasn’t strong or brave or okay for a long time. Sometimes I still struggle with believing I’m worth it. But what happened to me, happened. I accept that. Chad helped me accept it then, too, but I wasn’t always so trusting of others, least of all, myself. Some people are born strong, others, are forced to struggle to earn that strength. And I sure as hell earned mine.”

Louis smiles and squeezes Harry’s hand, not sure if he could find the right kind of words to agree with him. Not sure if he has the right to agree with him because he really hasn’t known Harry that long. He opts for, “Well I’m glad for you. And glad you’re doing better.”

Harry smiles up at him. “Me too.” He uncaps the mascara and holds it up to Louis’ lashes. “Blink.”

Louis blinks. “Did you say Chad?” he asks, thinking of the other day at the grocery store.

“Yeah, he mentioned he ran into you while shopping. Blink. Said you were cute.” Harry wiggles his eyebrows up and down.

“Huh,” Louis says, while Harry pulls him up and positions him in front of the mirror. His eyes are smoky and the dark, glimmering eyeliner makes the blues of his eyes look icy. His cheeks are defined with blush barely darker than his skin, and his lips are a maroon that’s so dark it’s more brown than purple. He looks…different. Like Harry painted on his skin and he somehow became beautiful. But beautiful in the way butterflies or fairies are beautiful: fragile and innocent. Not him. But maybe Louis can pretend, just for now. 

“People keep surprising me,” he says and it feels like more of a confession than Harry could possibly understand.

Harry hugs Louis from behind, meeting his eyes in their reflection. “Me too,” he whispers.

.::.::.

James answers the door to Thelma’s apartment with a welcoming smile. “Lou’s here,” he calls back into the party. Louis holds out the cheapest nice-looking wine he could find at Safeway in offering.

“Party favor?” Louis says and James’ smile widens.

“I could kiss you!” 

Louis rolls his eyes. “You’re drunk.”

James shrugs and takes the bottle, pecking a kiss on Louis’ cheek. “We’re missing the party.”

Louis follows him inside, and out of the cold, down the short hallway that opens up into a small living room with a connecting dining room. There are some familiar faces, probably students or friends of Thelma and James who have stopped in at DJ’s once or twice in the last few months. He smiles at DJ who’s sitting on the armrest of a couch, chatting with a curly-haired, dark-skinned woman—the woman in DJ’s bio photo on her website. She waves with two fingers, the other three wrapped around a beer bottle. Thelma erupts from the kitchen, arms outstretched for the bottle of wine. She sees where Louis’ eyes are and wiggles her eyebrows up and down. 

“DJ’s partner!” she whispers in a way that’s not secretive at all before disappearing into the kitchen again. DJ rolls her eyes, but smiles all the same. Her and her partner walk over to Louis and James. DJ dolls out the introductions. 

“Monty, Louis. Louis, Monty.”

Monty reaches out her hand to shake Louis’. She has a beautiful jade stone ring Louis recognizes as DJ’s Signature Stone. He’s honestly not even surprised.

“Pleasure,” Monty says with a smile. 

“Pleasure’s mine,” Louis replies, feeling way too formal. He does a small bow to lighten the mood. Monty laughs and DJ rolls her eyes again.

“Now that we’re all acquainted, how about a drink?” James asks Louis. “Beer? Gin and tonic? Vodka orange? Wine?”“Beer’s fine,” Louis says. He turns back to DJ and Monty.

“So, Monty, I don’t see you around much, you work a lot or something?”

“My job relocated me to Tacoma, so I only visit on weekends—”

DJ cuts in. “If that.”

Monty looks up at DJ with an apologetic look. “I know, Denny.”

Louis smirks. “Denny?”

DJ widens her eyes at him. “Don’t tell Thel or James or else I’m cutting your hours.”

James walks up and hands Louis his beer. “What is it you can’t tell me or Thel?”

Louis looks back and forth between DJ, Monty, and James, and says, “I plead the fifth,” before opening his beer and taking a sip.

Monty rolls her eyes. “For the love of God.”

A few beers later finds Louis chatting on the couch with someone who apparently has a math class with Harry. How the topic of My Gorgeous Human Boyfriend Who’s Way Too Pure For Me was introduced, he’s not sure. Another Louis would be ashamed of how often he brings Harry up in conversations with people who probably couldn’t care less. But right now he’s a bit inebriated and as long as he keeps talking he can forget about how loud everyone’s heartbeats are. He downs the rest of his beer.

Monty grabs his attention next and they chat about what she does for work. She does outreach for and helps young adults get into technical schools and find jobs. It’s called Job Core. She seems to really love it. 

“I mean, it’s emotionally exhausting most of the time. I see these kids every day who struggle and try so hard but the whole damn system is against them. No family—or no family who cares, no house—or no safe place to stay. I want to help them all, but there’s only so much I can do, you know?”

Louis thinks of Harry and his heart sinks. “I can’t imagine,” he says, because, he really can’t. He’s killed more people than he can ever remember or count and he has probably put youth in the kind of position that Monty helps them get out of so no, he can’t imagine. And he doesn’t much like ruminating on all the people and kids he’s probably fucked because of his need to stay alive.

He feels a tension in the air and looks up from his hands. 

“What the fuck is _it_ doing here?”

Louis meets eyes with Zayn’s, sighing. To think, he was having a pretty good night, despite not really wanting to get out of bed tonight. 

Thel moves to Zayn, a hand outstretched in front of her as if to calm him. “Zayn. Stop.”

“No, Thelma, you stop. Stop defending that worthless thing and stand up like we were taught.”

When Thel responds, her voice is quiet enough not everyone in the room is paying attention. Yet. “We were taught to understand, to learn, not to hate for no reason.” Her last words are stressed in a way that confuses Louis. It’s as if she’s reminding Zayn of something he forgot, something he is supposed to pretend to know. Like a script.

“No reason?” Zayn’s voice is rising. “You do know what _that_ has—”

Thelma raises her voice to interrupt him, putting her outstretched hand on his chest. “C’mon, Zayn. Theres not need to make a scene.”

He looks disgusted. “A scene? Really, Thel? I can make this a scene.” He pushes past her, setting down the case of Rainier he had in his hand, clearing his throat. “Attention everyone, I would like to inform you that one of the guests here tonight is not what he seems.”

Zayn points to where Louis is sitting on the couch, with a manic smile stretched over his face. Louis doesn’t know what to do. Zayn can’t know what he is, that’s impossible. But Louis thinks of DJ and how she always seems to know what he’s thinking. He thinks of all of their stupid stones and thinks that, maybe, it isn’t impossible. Especially not with the way he’s referring to Louis as ‘it’ or ‘that’. If so, Zayn couldn’t possibly be about to tell everyone in this room?

“Our _dear_ friend Louis, here, physically assaulted his ever-loving and sweet-mannered boyfriend and partner. He slammed his boyfriends’ head against a mirror and then left. That _thing_ is not good. It does not deserve sympathy or pity. That is all, thank you.” He does a short bow to each corner of the room before James hands him his case of beer and says, “I think you’d better go.” To which Zayn replies, “Gladly.”

As soon as the door slams behind him, Louis expects the chatter to resume, for people to talk gossip about him, about what he did. But the room is quiet apart from the R&B playing on the speakers and eyes wander around the room. Their questions are almost louder this way, filling up the empty space in the room until they’re all Louis can feel. 

He stands abruptly and draws a breath like he’s going to explain himself. But he did push Harry. Harry’s head did slam onto the mirror. He could mention the fact that it was either push Harry away or kill him. He could break the age old secret of vampires just to save his own reputation. The selfishness would be fitting.  
Instead, he closes his mouth and makes for the door. DJ meets his eyes and it’s like she’s seeing him for the first time. Or maybe it’s the other way around and he finally understands. Zayn has to know. That’s the only way this makes sense, because he hated Louis _before_ Louis hurt Harry. And if he knows, than DJ knows. 

When the door clicks shut behind him, he vomits over the railing onto the pavement of the parking lot one story below as if on queue. He rests his forehead on the cold iron bar, hoping beyond hope that what just happened didn’t actually just happen. But he can still feel the tension of everyones eyes and it feels like he can’t breathe. He finds it ironic that his most mild aggression and the only one done in order to protect a human is the act he’s being shamed for. But he can’t explain to anyone that “slamming Harry’s head into a mirror,” as per Zayn’s choice of words, is nothing in comparison to the thousands he’s slaughtered just to satiate his hunger.

He fucking hates irony.

.::.::.

Theres a knock on his door. Louis ignores it. It’s too late to be awake but he hasn’t been able to fall asleep since he got home last night. He knows it’s DJ. She’s already come by twice to try and talk to him. Both times he’s pretended to be asleep. It’s his day off and he plans to spend it that way: off and tuned out from the world. But something he’s learned about DJ is that she doesn’t know how to quit.

“Louis,” she says. He can tell her forehead is resting on the door by the way her voice is muffled. “Louis, I know you’re awake.”

He turns over in bed. He shoves his head under his pillow and groans in a way that could either be the words “go away” or something unintelligible all together.

“Louis I know you keep your door unlocked. Groan twice if you don’t want me to come in.”

He doesn’t want her to come in but he also doesn’t not want her to come in. He doesn’t know what he wants. He inspects the strands of silk that make up his pillowcase and wonders where each little silkworm is that made this pillow. Are they dead? Did they ever know that each one of them was special and important to make something so beautiful? Did they ever understand that even something beautiful could be broken?

The door opens and closes and the scent of her blood wafts over to him in a cloud. He’s embarrassed at how easily his fangs spring. He hears DJ move toward his bed. She doesn’t sit or try to comfort him. He likes that and hates it and doesn’t know what to say. So he doesn’t say anything for a long time. And neither does she. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” Louis says into his mattress. But he knows she can hear him.

DJ sighs. “That doesn’t make it okay.”

“I know.” Louis pulls his fangs back in, getting used to the smell of blood and trying to concentrate on their conversation and not the sound of DJ’s heart. He rolls over and pulls the pillow from under his head and into his arms to hug. “It was either that, or-”

“Look, Louis—I know.” She cuts off, as if that’s as far as her predesigned script went. “He was bleeding, wasn’t he?”

Louis furrows his brows.

“Just tell me what happened that night.” She looks at him hard. She’s smart and has always had an air about her that told Louis she knew something about him, that she saw through him, but he never thought she would figure this out. But she knows now, he knows that. He just doesn’t want to say the words out loud because he’s never told anyone he wasn’t planning on killing after.

Louis closes his eyes. “We were making out in Harry’s bathroom. He was sitting on the counter. His lip was cracked and I could taste-”

DJ lets him pause and doesn’t interrupt. She’s waiting for the whole story. She’s patient like that. 

“I knew that if I didn’t do something, I would have killed him.” Louis clears his throat. “So I pushed him away.”

DJ nods. “And his head slammed into the mirror.”

“Yes. Harry said he, uh, couldn’t be around me,” Louis says, voice somewhere between hoarse and cracking. “So I hung around for a bit until I knew Zayn was watching over him.”

“You didn’t try to Glamour him?”

Louis sits up and lifts a finger in the air. “Okay, how do you know about Glamouring? How do you know any of this?”

DJ rolls her eyes and plops down on his bed. “Never mind how I know. So you didn’t even try it?”

Louis hugs his pillow tighter, a contemplative expression on his face. “I could have,” he says, “but I was honestly too shocked by it all. It took everything in me not to feed. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“Or you knew it would have been wrong to do.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, sarcastically. “Right. Cause I’m the fucking vision of knowing right from wrong.”

“Louis, I’ve met my share of vampires and I can count on one hand the ones who choose to starve for the sake of their human companions.” She looks at him like he’d be stupid to not notice that he’s changed. But he _has_ noticed, he just doesn’t know how comfortable he is with admitting it. “Speaking of which, I have a friend who works at a blood bank. But I can’t promise anything.”

That reminds him: “Isn’t there a vampire community here? There has been in almost every city I’ve been through.”

DJ scoffs. “There was. But they’re gone now.”

Louis thinks back to his time in LA, in Austin, in Louisiana, and doesn’t understand how DJ and Zayn alone could have taken them out or made an entire clan of vampires leave the greater Seattle area. And then he realizes it: they weren’t alone. 

“Your jewelry.”

“Clever boy.” DJ grabs her jade stone pendant absently as she speaks. “Enchanted. They all are.”

“So you’re all—”

“Witches? Yes.”

“I knew something was up with you! You always looked at me like you really saw me, but I never understood how you could possibly know the truth. I figured it had to be something else.”

“Whatever, Lou, you didn’t know shit.”

Louis shrugs because, well, she’s probably right. But he won’t admit that.

“Can you like cast a spell to make my hunger go away? I’m dying over here.” He said it like a joke, but they both know it’s not funny anymore.

“I’ve been working on something, but I’ve never had the chance to use it.” She looks sorry. “I don’t want to do it until I’m sure it won’t make your situation worse.”

Louis burrows into his blankets. “Okay,” he says. But he’s not okay with that. He’s not okay at all. He’s not sure anything could be worse than his current situation: starving, throwing up human food every day, lying to people, lying to Harry. He figures any chance at all is better than this. 

DJ nods and stands, understanding her cue to leave. Before she reaches the door, though, Louis asks, “If you knew all this time, why did you constantly force me to eat your _human food_?”

DJ laughs at his tone. “I had to see how far you would go. I had to see if you’d snap, and tell me.”

Louis nods, knowing that there’s a proudness in her voice.

“One more thing,” Louis says as DJ opens his door.

“Hmm?”

Louis hesitates, feeling like he probably already knows the answer before he asks. “So, Zayn. He’s known all along. Harry was his friend in ‘a tricky situation.’” 

DJ nods solemnly. “He hasn’t had the best experiences with your kind.”

He almost asks if it has anything to do with the vampire clan that used to live here, but thinks better of it. It most definitely has to do with that. He just nods in response.

“I’ll let you know about my friend at the bank,” she says before closing the door after her. And with her fading heartbeat, he finally falls asleep with the sweet scent of blood slowly fading from the air.

.::.::.

Harry leans on the doorframe of his bathroom brushing his teeth. Louis watches from Harry’s bed. He yawns, one eye showing above the fluff of the pillow. He’s exhausted and he's dreading the moment Harry brings up Thelma’s party. He doesn’t have the energy to deal with that or Zayn or any of this shit, human or supernatural.

“I don’t work until two,” Harry says through a mouth full of toothpaste foam. “We could finally go see the ferris wheel.” He disappears into the bathroom to spit. Louis groans into the pillow loud enough for Harry to hear. He seems to be doing that a lot lately.

Harry returns, bringing an air of minty freshness with him, and sits beside Louis. He rubs his shoulders through the blanket. “And it’s actually supposed to be pretty nice today so we’d be able to see The Olympics!”

Louis groans again and pulls the blanket over his head. How could he care about stupid fucking mountains when he’s a starved, feeble thing being held together by emotions he hardly believes in anymore. He’s confused when this stopped being a search for answers, and turned into something he’s started to rely on. Harry sighs. “C’mon, babe. I think it’ll be good for you to get out.”

“Are you implying I’m _lacking_ in the Doing Good For Myself Department or something?”

“Louis, please. You know staying inside everyday isn’t exactly healthy.” Louis thinks there’s a hint of something else behind his voice. A message between the lines, one that says it’s not healthy to be throwing up every meal.

“I’m more of a night person, really.”

“Then tell me why you spend most of your nights curled up at my side, asleep?” Harry asks softly, like he’s scared Louis is breakable, when, really, he’s about to explode. But Harry couldn’t possibly understand that. Louis knows Harry just cares for him and wants him to be healthy, and he wishes he could be, wishes he had it in him to feed. But he just doesn’t. He’s been waiting on DJ to tell give him any news on her friend at the blood bank, but that’s been pretty slow going since their conversation only two days ago. Louis finds this whole thing a fucking shit show. A starving vampire falling in love with a human, how quaint and wrong and deadly.

Louis peeks up over the top of the blanket at Harry. He considers telling him, telling Harry what he is and why he can’t go out in the day and why he’s weak and frail and puking up every meal. He wants to, because he wants to be done with lying and faking all the time. Telling DJ, however nerve wracking, was a relief in the end. And he’s just so damn tired. He imagines what Harry would do, if he found out. Would he back away in fear or disgust? Would he still want him by his side at night? Would he ever love him?

Louis decides he can’t take the risk. He finally has someone and he doesn’t want to mess it up, like he always does. And he has DJ and her help. He can last a bit longer. So he smiles, submitting. “I’ll try, okay?” he says, knowing this is admitting things he can never take back. 

Harry takes it, probably knowing it’s the closest he’ll get today. “How does some breakfast sound?”

It sounds like a count-down to a date with the toilet, but Louis takes Harry’s comforter downstairs with him anyway, wrapped around his limbs like some kind of exoskeleton that will keep him safe and warm. 

He feels so human, in this moment: watching Harry sway his hips and chop up onions and mince garlic and listening to him sing pretty songs and carry melodies while the eggs and bacon cook. It’s the things that are so small like this that make Louis remember what it was like to be alive. If he told Harry, he’d have to give this up and he just can’t. He can’t give back these moments and he doesn’t want to. He doesn't want to say goodbye to feeling safe by Harry’s side. And when Harry hands him his plate and kisses his forehead, he doesn’t see any reason that could make him give this little bit of home up.

.::.::.

“How long have you known?” Louis asks. He’s sitting on the counter next to the stove. DJ’s making some kind of potion. Most human food smells bad to him anyway, but now that he knows what it really is, he can tell that it smells terrible, even to humans.

DJ sprinkles some crushed up leaves into the bubbling liquid. “I had my suspicious from as soon as you came walking in those front doors,” she nods toward the front of the shop and Louis makes a sound like he’s going to ask another questions. “ _But_ I knew for certain when you tried to Glamour me. That didn’t work by the way.”

Louis tilts his head. “But you did what I asked.” She gave him a job and the apartment upstairs. He doesn’t understand why she played along for all these months, why she let him believe he’d had her fooled.

DJ laughs. “What do you think you would have done if I told you that I knew what you were and what you were trying to do to me?”

He tries not to focus on how she said ‘what’ you are, like he’s not even a person, and thinks about his answer. His first thought is that he would deny the accusation, but he knows that he would be irked that she even knew what Glamouring was. She couldn’t know that unless she was also a vampire or some other kind of supernatural.

“I’d ask what you were.”

“Exactly.” DJ absently touches the pendent hanging from her neck. “I couldn’t have a brash young vampire think he could sabotage my hedge.” 

Louis shrugs, shaking his head. Knowing him, he wouldn’t have taken kindly to finding out she was the leader of a hedge, and a powerful one too. He would have taken it as a threat. “Still not over that, to be honest.”

“Honestly, I’m surprised you never realized on your own,” DJ says pointedly. She stirs the potion with a wooden spoon. “Then again, you’re young. What is it? Five, six years?”

Louis tilts his head. “Seven, but you’re good.”

DJ smirks. “I know.”

He’d had his suspicions about her, but he never could put his finger on what was off about her. All he knew was that she somehow knew things about him and she and her friends had matching jewelry. But finding out that she’s supernatural too makes this all feel easier to bear somehow, the weakness, the vomiting, the ceaseless hunger and thirst, even if she is kind of insulting him. There’s just something about having someone around who knows you, all your secrets and all the things you’re capable of, that is really comforting. He feels guilty that that person isn’t Harry.

Louis sits on his hands, the warmth welcome. He needs a distraction. “I saw your website.”

DJ raises her eyebrows. “Oh?” she asks, pouring in some dark brown liquid into the potion.

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “So you’re basically like a naturopath doctor, but with stones and potions?”

DJ scoffs. “Okay, yes, but way more badass. I enchanted a stone to protect me from vamp glamours. And that’s just this one. You should see the others.”

“Does the bracelet Zayn wears allow him to see another supernatural for what they truly are?” Louis asks.

DJ raises her eyebrows. “He came to me the day after you and Harry met. Told me there was a new _monster_ in town. By then, you and I had already met and I told him I had it under control. He’s never disagreed with me about anything until you came to town.”

Louis could almost laugh at how stupid he was being by hunting in such a public place. He’d thought he was so cool, so clever and sly. When Zayn knew the whole time. He saw him Glamour Harry that night and he knew. He remembers the branch that cracked that distracted him from feeding that night, on Alki beach. He slowly puts it together.

“You know how Harry and I met, don’t you?” he asks. If he’s right, then that means Zayn followed Harry to the beach that night, probably equipped with one of DJ’s stones that protected him against being seen or heard.

DJ looks over at him, eyes uneasy questions. She sighs. “Zayn followed Harry, knowing you had Glamoured him. He’s a very skilled witch, even enchanted a few of his own stones to protect him against you.” She shakes her head. “I was so angry at him for trying to go against a vampire on his own. He’s strong, but he’s young.”

Louis shrugs. “Turns out he didn’t need protecting.”

DJ scoffs. “That was pure luck.”

Louis swings his feet. “It might have been more than just that.”

“Zayn said he stepped on a branch and you heard it and then stopped.”

“Maybe it was the branch—Zayn—at first,” he says. He feels nervous to tell her what he saw. But he knows she’ll believe him; she’s a freaking witch for crying out loud. But Louis thinks that he’s secretly become fond of these images, these memories. Because they stopped him from killing Harry and Harry is _something_ , now. He’s more than Louis ever thought anyone could be. “But when I was feeding from him, I saw some of his memories.”

DJ stares at him. “Have you have other instances of telepathy?”

Louis shakes his head. “Never.”

“I’ve never heard of that happening with no other signs of being telepathic.” DJ stirs the potion, puts the lid on it, and then turns off the burner. “What did you see?”

“I saw Harry jumping off a dock into a lake. I saw him skateboarding in short shorts down a street. I saw him smiling in the sun. His hair looked golden and he looked beautiful and alive.”

“Hmm.” DJ licks the wooden spoon and grimaces. “Not ready. Well, it’s possible to have instances of telepathy that disappear as soon as they develop. It’s just rare. You had drank a lot of his blood, by then I’m assuming?”

Louis nods. “Yeah,” is all he says because he doesn’t want to linger on memories of blue lips and feeble heartbeats.

“He could have just been remembering happy memories. Telepathics have conducted tests on dying people to understand the process of death better and have proved that theory correct.” She sees the look on Louis’ face and says, “They didn’t kill just for the experiments.” But her tone says that he really has no place to judge even if they did. And she’s right. Because he’s killed people for no reason but for himself to stay alive.

“But here’s the thing,” he says. “I asked Harry if he’d swam in any lakes growing up and he said no.”

DJ looks at him, skepticism radiating from her expression. “It’s possible he forgot. Not all memories are so easy to hold onto.”

Again, Louis gets the feeling she’s talking about something else. He ignores it and says, “But if he were thinking about it as he was dying, because it was one of his happiest memories in his entire life, then why wouldn’t he remember any of it?”

To that, DJ doesn’t have an answer. “That’s a good point.” She checks the potion one more time, lifting the lid a crack as black steam billows out. “It’s ready.” She stirs it again, and uses a ladle to pour some in a small glass. 

Louis eyes the smooth black liquid. “What is that?”

“It’s for you.”

He holds the cup and it’s hot to the touch. The steam has died down, but there are still small swirls of black and tints of dark blue hovering over the liquid, but not rising more than an inch from its surface. 

“I thought you said you needed to work on this more.”

“I did. Plus, my friend at the bank is having a hard time ‘losing track’ of a few bags of blood, so I thought maybe you’d like to try it out.”

“Oh.” Louis thought he’d have blood from the bank before he’d have test out experimental magic potions. And, despite feeling like any chance is better than how things are looking for him now, he can’t help but be nervous. “Will it hurt?”

DJ shrugs. “Ideally, no. But you’ll be the first, so.”

“What will it do?”

“It should help the side effects of not feeding.”

“But won’t make me better,” Louis fills in. DJ nods. Okay, so it’s not some miracle elixir to save him from himself. But it’ll help make it more bearable. “Okay.”

He shoots it back like its alcohol, but it’s not bitter or gross like he was expecting. It tastes like nothing, like air. The only reason he knows he actually drank something is the tiny bit of black steam floating over his tongue. It kind of tickles.

They sit and stare at each other for a few minutes, waiting for something to happen. He feels the same. There’s still an aching hunger deep in his stomach. There’s still a dryness to his throat. He still feels weak and too little and not right. It didn’t work.

“Louis,” DJ says hesitantly. He can’t really focus on her or there’s two of her or maybe three. Maybe it’s a witch thing? “Louis?” she says again, this time he thinks maybe she sounds more frantic. But his hearing is blotchy and he just hears her heart beating so loud it’s making his brain shake. He thinks she might have said his name again, but he can’t tell. He stands and something isn’t right inside.

His vision goes black.

.::.

He wakes up in his bed. He feels like hell. Everything is worse, somehow. His hunger is angrier, his throat itchier, the sounds of everything around him are far away and too close all at once. It’s like he’s in a vacuum. All he knows is he can hear three steady heartbeats and someone’s bleeding.

He opens his eyes and sees Thel and James sitting at his barstools in his kitchen. DJ is leaning against the wall near his front door. 

“Deej,” he croaks. “The fuck’d you give me?”

DJ somehow looks sorry even as she rolls her eyes. “I told you it could make it worse.”

“You also said you’d worked on it.” Louis’ eyes hurt. He closes them and hears muffled steps and someone sits on his bed. Why is there the smell of blood? They shouldn’t be in here. He could—but then he realizes he can’t move. He’s strapped to his bed. He sighs, amazed that that actually makes this better.

“Lou, brewing isn’t that easy.” It’s Thel. Her voice is soft and she rests a hand on his thigh. “There aren’t just recipes lying around with the purpose of _helping_ vampires. It’s usually the other way around.”

Louis opens his eyes. So now four people know about him. Wait, no. He thinks there’s another person but he can’t remember right now. There’s too much sound but also too little. Their hearts are too loud. He looks toward DJ.

He clears his throat. “What happened?”

“After you drank it, you didn’t look right. There was something wrong with your eyes.” DJ almost looks scared. “It was like you were gone and something else took over.”

Louis looks around at the three of them. He wants to ask what else happened because he knows she’s not telling him something. But James answers before he works up the strength to ask.

“You attacked DJ. We think it was a survival mechanism. Your body was trying to counter-act a potion designed to help you not feel the need to feed, something that could eventually lead to your death.”

Louis shakes his head. “No. I wouldn’t.”

DJ steps forward and Louis can see there are gauze taped to her arm. She’d been hiding it with her hand. Or she’d been applying pressure. There’s blood starting to tint the top layers pink. She’s bleeding. He attacked her.

She shrugs. “I knew the risks. And I’d prepared beforehand.” She pulls a clear, eight-pointed crystal from her pocket. It glimmers in the half-light from the stove hood that’s on in the kitchen. “I mean, you barely got me, Louis, don’t worry.” 

But he _is_ worried because more blood is soaking through her gauze and he’s strapped to his bed. 

“So you gave me a potion that was supposed to help my symptoms, but it actually just turned me into a rabid vampire?” He can’t even remember anything that had happened. 

James sighs. “Lou, like Thel said, it’s not always cut and dry with potions. Maybe it could have worked if you’d fed sooner, or maybe if you were further along in your…uh, situation. There are too many variables and DJ shouldn’t have tried it so soon.”

Louis expects DJ to protest that, but she just kind of deflates. “I know. It’s just, you’re dying Louis. I wanted to do something. You’re not like other vampires I’ve met.”

Louis scoffs. “Yes. I am. You met the real me today. _This_ Louis? The one who you all know, is a lie.”

The room is quiet and he wants to be gone. He wants out and he wants to be free of this bed, this city, the fucking human holding him here. The sound of their heartbeats are too loud and he’s straining against the binds on his hands to cover his ears. He knows it won’t help, but he has to do something.

“Louis-” Thelma starts, but Louis cuts her off. 

“No, Thel. Don’t tell me I’m some special rarity or that I can live among humans and we can all get along and be happy. I’ve killed so many people I don’t even remember any of their faces. It’s all a blur of dull eyes and blue lips. I’ve killed for fun, even. My Maker taught me how to be a ‘true’ vampire. She made me what I am, but she also made me who I am. And that person isn’t any different than any other vampire you’ve ever met. So please, save it.”

“Lou,” Thel says again, with a small smile on her face. “Louis we know you’ve killed people. And we know you’ve done things we probably don’t even want to hear. But you know what we also know? We know that you haven’t killed—or even fed at all—since the night you got here. The night you met Harry. And we know what we see in your eyes when you look at him. You might not think that’s a big deal, but it’s kind of a big fucking deal.”

The room feels too big. Louis can’t handle all their eyes on him and he’s annoyed because Thel is wrong. It doesn't mean anything. It just means he’s a shit vampire and a shit human and an even shittier person. He only stayed along this long because he wanted to find answers. He closes his eyes, trying to let himself fade into the vacuum of sounds and heartbeats and sleep.

DJ clears her throat quietly. “Maybe we should let Lou get some rest.”

James mutters a word of agreement and Thel sighs.

“Lou?” she asks. 

He opens his eyes, planning on glaring at her, but the excited look on her face is enough to make him go easy on her. “Yeah?”

“Can I see your fangs?” He’d think she almost sounded embarrassed, that is, if Thel was capable of being embarrassed. “I’ve never actually met a vampire in person.”

Louis rolls his eyes groggily, but when he smiles, his fangs are out. Her reaction is priceless; like she’s a kid at an aquarium for the first time or a middle schooler watching someone’s femur break through their leg. Like when there’s a horrible accident, but your eyes are drawn to it, unable to look away. He should maybe feel uncomfortable about the way she’s gawking at him and talking about how she’s never seen “real life fangs on live vampire” because there are so many levels that are wrong with that, but he can’t find the energy in him to care. So he continues smiling at her, and closes his eyes.

He hears the door close and realizes he dozed off. His fangs aren’t out anymore and his apartment feels empty without the sounds of their hearts beating. At least now he can finally sleep. He’s glad he can’t dream anymore, because he’s worried at what he would see. When he falls asleep, it’s nothing but black.

.::.::.

The next day, Louis wakes to the sound of a familiar heartbeat. He hears Harry shuffling around, his socked feet muffled on hardwood floors. It’s sweet, the sounds of Harry’s body moving when he thinks no one is paying attention.

Louis opens his eyes. His sheets are a tangled mess around his body and he feels damp and greasy. At least he’s not strapped to the bed anymore, so he assumes DJ deemed him safe to be around humans again. His head aches and his limbs feel like lead and there’s still that dry itch in the back of his throat. He stretches, groaning audibly.

“Are you up for good this time, babe?” He moves to sit on the edge of Louis’ bed.

Louis squints up at him. Even in the dim room, his eyes are sensitive. He regrets ever drinking that stupid potion, but really it’s not about the potion. That was just a possible solution to the actual problem. The real issue here is that Louis hasn’t been feeding. And maybe it’s bigger than that, but Louis doesn’t want to think about why he hasn’t been feeding so he won’t.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Louis asks. He sits up a bit with shaky arms. Harry pushes the hair off his face in a way that makes Louis want to scream or melt, he isn’t sure yet.

Harry laughs to himself. “You’ve been talking in your sleep.” He tucks a few strands of Louis’ hair behind his ear, but it falls back to place anyway. “I think you’ve been having nightmares.”

Louis blinks. “I don’t dream.” He’s to out of it and groggy to understand that he shouldn’t have said that with such certainty.

“Everyone dreams.” Harry shrugs one shoulder. His hair is down and freshly washed. Louis wonders if he showered here or at his house. A part of him likes the thought of Harry showering in his space, with his shampoos and conditioners and body washes, with his naked body where Louis’ own naked body has been. It’s a warm feeling. Not sexual, just warm. And close. Louis head is throbbing. “You probably just don’t remember them.”

Louis lets him believe he’s right. “What did I forget this time?”

Harry feels his forehead absently, checking for a fever, as he answers. “It wasn’t very coherent, but there was a steady mantra of ‘blood’ and you said, ‘The black potion made me do it’ a few times. Must’ve been the fever. You’re cooled off now.”

Louis slumps into his pillow and rests his head against the cold metal frame of his bed. He wasn’t dreaming, he was just delirious from the effects of whatever that potion was. Harry couldn’t realized he was asking for blood, that he was craving it. In his reality, that would be a horror story, not a fantasy.

Louis fakes a laugh. “I was pretty out of it, huh?”  
Harry smiles tenderly. “Yeah, yeah you were.”

“She tell you I was-” Louis wants to say ‘uncontrollable’ or ‘dying’ or something along the lines of Not Okay At All, but he doesn’t. And he doesn’t have to. 

“She watched you through the night, checking up now and then. Didn’t call me until the morning because she ‘didn’t want to wake me.’ I think she forgets I’m a college student who never sleeps.” He laughs. “Oh and DJ said you could have the night off.”

Louis looks toward his curtains, realizing he doesn’t know what time it is. “What time is it?”

Harry glances at his phone. “Almost four.”

Louis yawns and his mouth feels fuzzy and dry. He swallows. “Maybe I should shower or something.”

Harry smiles mischievously. “I’m leaning toward ‘or something.’”

Louis’ surprised he has the energy to roll his eyes. “Not so fast, turbo. I’m still in recovery.”

Harry wiggle his eyebrows. “Oh, so you wanna play doctor?”

“You’re seriously not allowed to turn me on. I forbid it,” Louis says, but he’s laughing because he’s not that serious. Another Louis would be embarrassed that he probably doesn’t even have the energy for sex—or anything at all, really.

Harry stands, swaying his hips too far from side to side and shaking out his hair, trying so hard not to be sexy. And that’s something he has to work very, very hard at doing. “We’ll see about that, mister,” he says with an overdramatic wink.

Louis’ smiling and laughing too hard at something that, contextually, isn’t really that funny at all. But it’s Harry. He’s sweet and cute and it’s really not a big deal that Louis hasn’t been feeding. It’s really not.

“I think I just came,” Louis deadpans.

At this, Harry barks out a laugh before pressing a smily kiss on Louis’ lips. “Here, lets get you up to the shower, yeah?”

Louis pushes his legs over the edge of the bed, not taking Harry’s sturdy hands that are offered to help him up. “You just want an excuse to see me with my clothes off,” Louis jokes, but it’s breathy and weak and his legs feel wobbly. He’s glad he doesn’t have to ask for Harry’s arm around his waist, because Harry is there and holds him steady as they walk to his bathroom. 

“You brought it up first, so I think it was my super sexy dance moves that made you want to take off your clothes,” Harry says as he pulls off Louis’ shirt. He helps him out of his boxer briefs and being naked in front of others doesn’t bother him anymore, but something about the way Harry’s fingers trail over his shoulder blades is too sweet for him. 

“Oh yeah, that’s right.” Louis steps inside the shower with Harry’s help. “It was totally your super sexy dance moves.” 

Louis closes the shower door behind him. There’s a foggy and blurred outline of Harry’s body through the glass and he’s glad there’s less to focus on. He just listens to Harry breathe and to his heart beat and turns on the water. 

Soon there’s steam filling up the room and it’s comforting, in a way. The water is scalding and the air is warm and Harry is sitting on the toilet seat telling a story about someone in one of his classes but Louis isn’t really paying attention. He may have been joking, but he really is recovering. Only, he isn’t recovering because he’s not getting better. He’s on a steady downhill battle that will only end badly. But Harry’s voice is calming and, mixed with the steady drum of water on his back, just the right kind of vibration on the humid air to make Louis believe that he can get through another night.

.::.::.

It’s Thanksgiving and Louis is still feeling off from drinking that potion, or maybe it’s just from not drinking blood, but either way he’d planned to spend the night in a loving embrace with his bed and Netflix. It seems, however, that DJ has other plans. He had given up on sleep even though it was only ten in the morning, his stomach and empty angry pit, when DJ comm’d his room.

“I’m guessing you’re not headed back to Maine anytime today?”

“Nope.”

“What about Harry’s?”

“No, we’re not even to the Let’s Officially Be Boyfriends Stage, let alone the Parent Introduction Stage.”

“Okay, then get down here and help me cook. You’re not getting _this_ feast for free, honey.”

Louis rolls his eyes and he knows DJ can practically hear it. “What’s in it for me?”

DJ pauses. “A magic potion to make you better?”

Louis laughs. “Too soon.”

He’s dressed in clothes Harry had left at his place, running leggings and an oversized The Smiths t-shirt that has seen better days. He sends Harry a nice text wishing him a happy Thanksgiving. Immediately after, he sends a text saying that he could come to DJ’s after if he wanted more food. What he meant by that was that if Harry needs out of that godforsaken house, he can come here. Louis figures Harry probably got the hint. He takes a deep breath, breathing in Harry’s scent left on his clothes and sighs.

James and Thelma are in the kitchen when he walks in, and they immediately put him to work rinsing and peeling potatoes, but only after Thelma wolf-whistles as Louis walks by.

“Lookin good, Lou. Maybe that potion _did_ work,” Thelma says, pressing pie crust into a pan.

Louis shrugs, rolling his eyes at her exaggerated eye-balling of his backside. He knows he’s lost weight in that department lately—in all departments, actually—so she’s just trying to boost his ego or something. Or she’s joking to ease the awkwardness of him sweaty and strapped to his bed, confessing all the horrible things he’s done. “Think _I_ would know.”

James doesn’t pause in his chopping of carrots to ask, “How you feeling?”

Louis shrugs. “I mean, not good. Honestly, I think it progressed my symptoms or something.”

Thelma turns to look him over. “Do you feel anything else? Anything besides the ordinary starving pains?”

Louis almost laughs at how casual she says ‘ordinary starving pains,’ like hosting a dying vampire is the norm around here. “Don’t worry, Thel, I’m not going to attack you.” He looks over his shoulder at James. “But I can’t promise anything for you, J.”

James stops chopping to turn, but when he sees Louis’ expression he relaxes. “That’s not funny, Lou,” he says, but he’s laughing.

Louis wiggles his eyebrows. “Isn’t it though?”

DJ walks in from her office and passes through the kitchen to the front. As she walks past, she says, “Too soon.”

Louis feels a twinge of guilt, but Thel and James are laughing so he thinks it’s probably okay if he were to smile at the joke.

.::.

A couple hours later, the whole shop smells like turkey and chicken pot pie and cheesy potatoes and Louis already feels sick from it all. DJ had brought out placemats from a back closet and gives Louis the job of setting the table. He feels like a teenager again with all the cooking and bantering and now he’s setting the table with mixed matched placemats and silverware from different sets. It reminds him of how he and his mom built a life for his sisters that worked, like one of those wooden brain teaser puzzles with odd shapes and hard angles and you think it could never possibly all fit together to make a perfect square. But it does and for them, it did.

The whole shop is high-energy. Thelma is warming up the food they had cooked a while ago because they only have two ovens. James keeps checking on the pot pie, making sure it doesn’t burn. DJ is glued to the other oven checking the temperature of the turkey every now and then. And Louis is headed upstairs to grab a few of his candles to put on the table. It seems less important than making sure the turkey is perfect or having food-safe temperatures, but it totally is. Ambiance is key. 

Louis hasn’t heard from Harry apart from a few texts with non-monumental information like when he got to his parents’ house, how the horses were, were they cooking his favorite thanksgiving treats, that kind of stuff. (“Three o’clock, great and soft and sweet, no they were out of green beans at the store.”) The last text Harry had sent was just one sad face, and that was over an hour ago. Louis texted back immediately, to no avail.

His phone chimes as he’s lighting the last of the candles. The lights are dimmed just past their normal brightness, the candles and the light from the pastry display case set the room in flickering amber light. Louis would almost say it’s cozy if there wasn’t a knot in his stomach.

It’s from Niall. _you see harry’s snap story?_

Without replying, he opens up snapchat and waits while it loads everyone’s story. He clicks on Harry’s and it’s a selfie of him with his forehead resting on against the forehead of a horse, its black mane getting lost with Harry’s dark curls. The caption reads, “horses are much better company.” Louis’ heart sinks.

He sends Harry a quick _how are you doing?_ text before replying to Niall. _just saw it. he hasn’t replied to me for a while._

Niall replies immediately. _same._

DJ walks through the swinging door and the florescent lights from the kitchen cut through the warm lights of the dining room in an angry way. She pauses, taking in the places set at the table, at the candles and the pies lit up on display and smiles. “This looks wonderful, Lou.”

He sets his phone down on the table. “Thanks,” he says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

DJ catches it, her eyebrows furrowing. “You okay?” she asks. Her black crewneck sweatshirt is speckled with food and flour and her worn overall straps are unbuckled and hanging at her hips. “Apart from the obvious, I mean.”

Louis shrugs. He’s not sure how much Harry would be comfortable with him sharing so he just says, “I’m worried about Harry; his family’s kinda….” He makes a wishy-washy gesture with his hands.

DJ nods. “Well, he’s welcome here if he wants.”

Louis smiles. “I know.”

There’s a knock on the door. Him and DJ look up at the same time. It’s Monty, and it looks like she brought company.

DJ welcomes them with hugs and kisses on the cheeks and Louis has never seen her smile so big.

“Monty never said y’all were able to make it!” DJ picks up a little girl with green and pink clips dangling from her braids.

The little girl puts her hands on DJ’s cheeks and says, “Surprise!”

Louis’ not sure, but he thinks there’s a shine to DJ’s eyes that looks suspiciously close to tears. 

Monty kisses DJ on the temple. “You don’t know how hard it was to keep this a secret.”

“And we all know how Monty is with secrets,” chimes in the eldest of the group, a man who Louis assumes is Monty’s dad. 

At this everyone laughs. Thel walks in from the back, holding extra placemats for their new guests. She rolls her eyes. “You’ll never be able to live that one down, Monty.” Thel shrugs. “Sorry,” she says but doesn’t sound sorry at all. 

“Hah.” Monty takes her family’s coats and throws them on an empty table. “You don’t say.”

Monty’s family find their seats and it makes sense now, why Thelma and James insisted they cook so much. Monty says hi to him and he’s embarrassed from what she learned about him at Thel and James’ party the other week, but he remembers that she’s a witch so she knows he’s a vampire, which is still weird to wrap his head around. Monty introduces her parents, Sam and Lincoln, her brother, Jake, her sister and her sister’s husband, Whinny and Charlie, and their daughter, Emery. At this point, Thel has stolen Emery from DJ and Emery is talking about how Santa is going to bring her The Littlest Petshop Petkins that she’s been wanting for “ _forever_.”

With a couple extra hands, it only takes a few minutes to bring all the food to the table and get everyone glasses of wine. Louis is sitting at the end of the row of tables, beside James and across from Thelma and Emery. Further up is DJ and Monty and the rest of her family. Lincoln sits at the head of the table. He looks around at everyone with a smile. 

“Today, I am thankful that Monty fell in love with an amazing cook,” Lincoln jokes. “We appreciate you for hosting us, DJ. Everything looks amazing.”

DJ rolls her eyes and Monty smacks her dad’s arm playfully. “That was mostly Thelma, James, and Louis. I was on turkey duty most of the day. Plus, I didn’t even know y’all were coming.”

Lincoln looks to the three of them in turn instead. “Well, thank you.” His smile is warm and Louis knows he already likes this man.

Thelma and James mutter humble _you’re welcome_ s and Louis just smiles back, happy to be here. He’s not excited that he now has to put up The Human Act and eat now, because they’re all here. One more day won’t hurt, though.

Sam, Monty’s mom, is thankful for her healthy and growing granddaughter. Jake is glad to be starting a new job in the next couple of weeks. Whinny and Charlie share a glance before announcing that they’re thankful to be pregnant again. The whole table erupts in _whats_ and _whens_ and demands for more information.

“How about we finish the What I’m Thankful For speeches, so we can all eat, yeah?” Whinny asks over everyone talking. “And _then_ we can talk baby names!”

Next is Monty, who says something sweet about love and DJ, but Louis only catches parts of it because he’s thinking about how warm and safe this dinner table is and how he wishes Harry were here instead of two hours away. He imagines that that old farm house is drafty and quiet, with no laughter or smiles around the table. Just tension and unspoken _sorrys_ and resentment. It’s not fair. Not for Harry, not for someone who deserves so much more than what he was given.

“And Louis?” Thelma says. “What are you thankful for?” 

Louis is surprised to find out he missed DJ’s, Thelma’s, and James’ speeches. He’s bummed and embarrassed because he wanted to hear what they had to say and he was probably just spacing out pretty badly. And now it’s his turn to speak. 

_What am I grateful for?_ He hasn’t asked himself that question for a while—he hasn’t had any reason to ask himself much of anything at all—except for ‘ _What next? Where next? Who next?_ ’—and he’s not really sure what his answer is. He looks around at all their faces, their eyes open and genuine. He thinks about all the horrible things he’s done to stay alive, and, even worse, what he’s done for amusement. He realizes that maybe they don’t see that person when they look at him. Maybe they just see _him_ : a skinny boy in a baggy t-shirt, understanding for the first time in a long time, that maybe he doesn’t have to be alone.

Almost to himself he says, “I guess I’m just thankful for the opportunity to have a new start, ya know? No one knows me or what’s happened to me. Settling down here was Point A and Point B is somewhere in the future. I’ve never had something like this to look forward to in a very long time.”

It’s DJ’s turn to raise her glass. “To new beginnings.”

Whinny and Charlie raise their classes, too. “To new life.”

Lincoln raises his. “To old life.” At this, Sam shakes her head but eventually raises her glass as well. 

Emery raises her cranberry juice. “To Petkins!

Everyone laughs and Emery looks around, confused at what’s so funny. Thelma explains that sometimes adults do weird things like laugh when nothing is funny. This seems to make complete sense to her, so she just shrugs it off. DJ grabs her knife and fork and holds them in her fists, excited. “Now lets eat!”

After everyone has dished up, Louis reaches to put a reasonable portion of each entree. James gives him a strange look.

“Lou, you actually _want_ to eat this stuff?”

Louis glances pointedly to the other end of the table, toward Lincoln and Sam and the others. James purposefully doesn’t follow in Louis’ secretive communication. 

“Yeah, what about Monty’s family being here?” he asks, full volume. 

Louis widens his eyes in angry question. At this, Thelma leans in and whispers loudly the way she does, “Louis, they know Monty is a W-I-T-C-H.”

“And I told them about you before coming,” Monty says. “I wouldn’t have felt comfortable if I hadn’t disclosed to them… No offense.”

Louis puts down the serving spoon he’d grabbed and sits back in his chair. He’s now sitting with eight people who know he’s a vampire. Thats eight more people than he ever thought would ever know. He doesn’t know what to think.

“None taken,” he says. “Huh.”

Monty takes a sip of wine. “Weird, isn’t it?”

Louis shrugs. “It’s just I’ve never told anyone, ever. And now all of a sudden-” He looks around at all of their open eyes. “-there’s a whole room of people who know.”

Monty blinks. “You didn’t tell Harry? Even after what happened?”

He knows she’s referring to the scene Zayn painted at the party a couple weeks ago. He opens his mouth to answer, but there’s a quiet knock on the door. He thinks he hears someone whisper ‘After _what_ happened?’, but Harry is standing under the dim street lights, looking deflated. Louis’ a little surprised he didn’t hear him approaching, but he’s here now, so that’s what matters. Louis jumps up to unlock the door, and, as he gets closer, he can see that it looks like Harry’s been crying. Louis pulls him into a hug, but Harry just leans in and sniffles. Louis kisses his temple hard and tender at the same time and holds his hand with a fierceness he hopes can hold the rest of Harry together too. 

Louis whispers, “Wanna talk?” to Harry, but he just shakes his head and replies, “Maybe later.”

“Hungry?” DJ asks from the table.

Harry just shrugs. “Is there green bean casserole?”

DJ grabs a plate from behind the counter and starts dishing him up some slimy green things that Louis had been avoiding looking at. “Of course. It’s only the second best Thanksgiving dish,” she says.

Harry almost smiles. “Second only to mashed potatoes.”

DJ winks at him, handing him a heaping plate of green bean casserole, mashed potatoes, a couple slices of turkey, a roll, and a slice of James’ famous chicken pot pie. “A man after my own heart.”

Louis gives Harry the seat he was sitting in and pulls a chair from another table and sits at the end of the table. A part of him wonders if the seat he’d given Harry is warm from him sitting in it before him. Another part of him wonders why it somehow feels intimate that Harry’s body is where his was just minutes ago. It shouldn’t matter. None of this should matter. 

After a few bites, Harry relaxes a bit and lets go of Louis’ hand in order to rip a piece of his roll apart. Louis kisses his shoulder. He notices James had switched plates with him and is dishing up seconds on Louis’ sparkling clean plate. He hadn’t thought of that, but now Harry won’t be suspicious because it looks like he’s already eaten. He makes a note to thank James later.

“So,” Monty starts. Louis already knows where this is going. “You must be Harry.”

He swallows a bite of food, shrugging. “I must be.”

“I’m Monty, DJ’s partner. And this is my family.” She introduces everyone to Harry and everyone says hi except for Emery, who seems to be enthralled by Harry’s hair. Which is totally valid.

It’s Whinny who speaks next. “We were just asking Louis how you two met,” she says with a smile. Louis thinks back to that night and shudders, hopefully not visibly. He doesn’t want to think of Harry half-dead with pale lips. He doesn’t want to think of himself as that kind of monster.

Harry smiles, though, because he doesn’t remember the same thing as Louis because Louis made him forget. “Yeah?” He asks, taking a sip of Louis wine. “Please tell me he didn’t explain in detail how I tripped and made a total fool of myself.”

Jake leans in. “He didn’t, but now we need to hear this.”

Harry looks sideways at Louis, smiling with half his mouth. Harry tells the story of their first meeting, leaving out how Louis had met him at the bar, leaving out all of the true bits, telling only the lies Louis planted in his mind. But his eyes look lighter already and Louis hopes beyond hope the topic of conversation changes soon because he wants to think about _this_ Harry. The one sitting beside him, the one whose knee is resting against his own, warm and here and sturdy. The Harry who is soft and light and full. Or maybe, he just wants to be able to forget, for one night, the blood he’s spilled and the darkness he’s cast over everyone he meets, and focus on the _now_. He may be starving and probably dying, but he thinks, maybe, he’s happy.

When Harry finishes, Louis tries to take a casual sip of his wine but he fears it looks more like a desperate gulp. He asks, “Deej, you never told me how you and Monty met.”

Monty shakes her head, embarrassed, and DJ smiles at her in a way only someone in love can and Louis is glad for the distraction as DJ delves into a different story. The few glasses of wine she’s had make her more animated and loud. That could be a result of the current company, though, so Louis isn’t so sure.

The conversation opens up and breaks apart as people talk over each other and conversations cross and it’s loud and tipsy and Louis is getting a headache. But Thel and James are holding hands and talking to Harry about school and work and DJ is trying her hardest to make Harry laugh whenever she can and Louis loves them for it. And he wonders if he were asked again what he is thankful for, if maybe his answer would be different. Because, in all honestly, Point A wouldn’t even exist for Louis if it wasn’t for DJ and this place. If it wasn’t for seeing impossible things in a beautiful boy’s mind that gave him a feeling of wanting to belong again. And when Harry smiles beside him, dishing up seconds of green bean casserole, Louis is dangerously close to wanting to be in this moment for forever.

.::.::.

It’s the day after Thanksgiving and Louis wakes up in a sweat. Harry is sleeping beside him, tangled limbs with silk sheets on a twin size bed. Louis might take a second to take in how cute Harry looks with the peace of sleep over his face, if he wasn’t sweating and shaking uncontrollably. He extricates himself from Harry’s arms and walks on unsteady legs to his bathroom, remembering all too well how Harry had to lead him down this same path just a week ago.

He leans his back against the bathroom door and slides down to rest on the floor. The tiles are cold on his skin and he welcomes the touch. He can’t tell if this is another side effect of the potion or if this would have happened regardless. He guesses there’s no point trying to figure it out because he’ll never know. He decides maybe water could help because his face feels like it’s on fire. Not to drink, of course, but it could help to cool his skin and maybe get rid of whatever fever is taking his control away. He pulls himself up to a standing position using the sink as leverage. 

His reflection looks haunted. The light of the moon shining in through the frosted window shows the sheen of sweat on his upper lip and forehead, and his eyes look so dark. He doesn’t look right. He doesn’t look like himself. He’s starting to get confused as to who he’s supposed to look for in the mirror. He doesn’t know who he sees when he looks at himself, anymore. He’s a ghost of both his past selves, no longer enough of either to be familiar. He’s not alive or soft, he’s not an immortal killer. He’s nothing.

Louis splashes his face with cold water. He watches as droplets drip off his face and land in dark dots on his shirt. He’s not sure if it’s the heat of his skin or if it’s the need to see how little he’s become, but he strips off his shirt. His eyes follow the lines of his ribs, each one clear even in the dark. His chest is gaunt and his arms frail. How could he ever have let himself get this bad? There’s sweat on his chest and in the moonlight he looks like he’s glistening and he hates it. Hates that this is all his fault, hates that this is all because he was dumb and curious. Hates that this now all he wants is to feel what it’s like to love again. And this is what he gets. 

He splashes his face again and rests his hands on either side of the sink, hanging his head. He feels a little cooler, but stands there for a while anyway. He feels like he’s waiting for something. He’s not sure if he’s expecting to drop dead or for Harry to call him back to bed and he’s not sure which he wants more. He’s just so tired of being tired and tired of lying. And that’s something he never would have expected to feel. 

He sighs, looking up into his eyes. He watches them, waiting for some sign that he’s alright, that he’ll be okay. But the eyes that look back in the dark don’t offer any advice, any tell that Louis will get through this. His body holds no promises, and, really, he didn’t expect to find any. Not really. 

He gingerly makes his way back to bed and when he sits on his side of the mattress, it’s damp with sweat. The coolness is refreshing, though. Harry slides closer to him and the heat of his skin is alarming. Now that Louis’ hot sweats have gone, he’s left feeling cool and chilly with water and sweat still on his skin. But Harry is sweet in his sleep and Louis can’t find it in him to push him away or ask him to turn the other way. So he doesn’t.

Harry holds Louis with groggy arms and whispers, “Where’d you go, Lou?” His voice is small and coarse. Like a child.

Louis lays his head on Harry’s chest. “Nowhere, babe,” he says. “I’m here.” And, although he knows Harry has already fallen back asleep, he whispers, “I’m right here.”

.::.::.

It’s Louis’ day off and Harry is busy so he’s reading alone in his room. If someone had told him just three months ago that he’d be reading a book because a cute boy suggested it, he would have laughed in their face and then probably would have killed them and drank their blood. Now, he’s lounging on his bed and actually enjoying the book of poetry Harry lent him. It’s more like a scroll, than a book, actually. It’s called _Nox_ and it’s wonderful. Louis especially likes it because it takes just about one percent of energy to turn a page and he’s been pretty low in the Energy Department lately. Well, that, and the book talks about running and disappearing and makes him think of home. It hurts, but in a good way. The kind of hurt that means there’s still something good inside.

It starts out quiet, but Louis is familiar to the sensation by now. Harry’s voice flows into his mind slow and muffled until it’s not. Louis closes his eyes and Harry’s kitchen takes shape. 

Harry’s standing at the stove, stirring something hissing in a pan. Niall is chopping celery and green onions on a cutting board beside him.

“…hardly been eating. You’re not around him too much, but you’ve had to have noticed, right?” Harry says. Louis’ still not used to how it feels like he’s speaking when Harry talks, like it’s coming out of him.

Niall nods, looking solemnly at his crescent shaped celery. “Yeah, I have. But even if I hadn’t, I’d see how skinny he’s gotten.” He looks over to Harry, his eyes offering the words he doesn’t need to speak: _I’m worried for him._

Louis feels Harry’s shoulders slump, like he was hoping if Niall hadn’t noticed maybe it was all in his head. Like maybe none of this was real and Louis would come running in the door looking so full and alive as the day they first met. But this is real life. And real life fucking sucks.

“I don’t know what to do,” Harry says. “I make him eat, and he eventually gives in, but I know he throws it up. Like, the hot coco that night you were talking to DJ? He ran off to the bathroom to make himself vomit.”

“Yeah, I thought it was weird for him to go so suddenly.”

Harry motions for the veggies Niall has cut up. He brings them over and pushes them into the pan with the dull edge of the knife. “And, it’s like DJ notices too! I see her watch him with these sad eyes and it’s like there’s nothing I can do to make him see he’s worth it, you know?”

Niall grabs them both a beer and sits on the counter while Harry finishes the cooking. He makes a noncommittal sound. “Do you have any idea why he’d be feeling like—this?”

Harry shrugs. “Honestly? I think it’s his family. He never talks about them, and then when I asked about them he told me about how he left home because he ‘didn’t want them to see who he had become.’ Like who he is is some kind of monster or something. I think he misses them and feels guilty for leaving, so he’s taking it out on himself.”

Niall’s staring at his phone. “All these sites talk about ‘reestablishing self-love.’ Any thoughts on how you could help Louis…”

Louis has had about Enough of This conversation and checks out before he gets more upset or angry or whatever he’s feeling right now because it’s too much. Harry has it all wrong. Or, he has it right, but for the wrong reasons. But the longer Louis tries not to listen to Harry and Niall talk about “eating disorders” and “how to help someone with bulimia” the more Harry’s theory digs into his skin until it’s all he can feel. Because, really, he’s not wrong. Louis _does_ feel guilty for leaving his mother to raise his sisters all alone. He never even said a proper goodbye. And, yeah, maybe he hates to admit it, but he feels guilty for all the blood on his hands and he hates how literal that phrase is for him now. He hates a lot of things about this and himself, but he’s not _punishing_ himself. That’s absurd. If anything, he’s protecting Harry—and this life he’s slowly building—because he finally has something to protect. And, since he can’t go home, his only choice is to make _this_ home real and worth it and doing so starts and ends with Harry.

With this realization, Louis throws his book to the floor in an attempt to push away these feelings and thoughts and pretend they’re not true. They can’t be. The book lies open, its accordion pages flayed out like a slinky. He sees a snippet of a picture, just the sliver of a little girl or a little boy and if he squints it could be Lottie, when she was younger, or it could be one of the photos his mother had of his father when he was a child. Or, if he tilts his head, maybe it’s himself, too small in a world full of giant ideals to make sense out of it all. Too small to understand anything other than what was right in front of him.

He leaves the book there all night, open and staring, and he doesn’t sleep at all.

.::.::.

It’s cold when Louis steps out of Harry’s car. They’ve parked somewhere on a hill, surrounded by expensive-looking houses. Louis shivers and wraps his coat tighter around him. He misses the days when temperature never bothered him.

“If your idea of ‘fun’ is freezing to death, then I want no part in it!” he calls ahead of him through the breeze. It brushes his hair into his eyes, but he leaves it because his hands are better kept in his pockets.

Harry looks back at him and rolls his eyes. “Stop being dramatic, and come on. It’s just up here.” He’s wearing an over-large knitted scarf that Louis would otherwise tease him about if he wasn’t presently jealous that he wasn’t wearing it himself. Harry looks back at him again, whispy strands of hair dancing on the wind, standing out from the pinks of his cheeks. “C’mon slow poke!”

When Louis catches up with Harry, he’s breathing heavy and shivering. He leans against Harry and his wool coat is warm at his side and his body blocks some of the wind. They’re standing before a black metal fence that blocks them from switchbacking stairs leading the rest of the way down the steep hill. Out beyond the stairs and grass and trees in the dark, lies the whole city of Seattle, laid out and lit up. For them. 

“Welcome,” Harry says, linking his arm through Louis’, “to Kerry Park.”

Louis watches lights blink on or flicker off in various offices and apartments and listens to the dull sound of cars traveling all over the city. They almost seem far away or out of touch. The result leaves his mind a little more at peace. His stomach grumbles and Louis is reminded that any peace far away sounds or the biting cold can give him is just temporary. Another Louis would joke, make light of the situation so he wouldn’t have to admit that he was feeling something, something real and true and full. “It’s beautiful here,” Louis says, saving the jokes for some other time when he’s not arm-in-arm with a beautiful boy in front of a dazzling city.

“You should see it in the daytime; it’s even better.” Harry points to a place on the horizon. “Just about there is Mt. Rainier, towering over the city. It’s incredible.”

Louis thinks he can see an outline of the mountain, just to the left of Harry’s index finger. But it’s dark and his eyes aren’t focusing right, so maybe it’s just a clump of clouds he’s looking at. He imagines being here in the day, with the warm sun glistening on the waves of Puget Sound with the mountain he can hardly make out reigning over everything. He’s sad he’ll never get to see that.

Louis looks up at Harry, watching the way his face moves when he blinks, when he smiles, and when he bites the inside of his cheek. Louis can feel the connection between their minds and, for the first time, he feels guilty when he opens his eyes and he’s seeing things in Harry’s point of view. Louis feels something tight in Harry’s chest, something warm and pulsing. At first he thinks he’s feeling Harry’s heart beating from the inside. But he watches as Harry looks down at him, and the feeling surges and Harry’s heart beats faster. Louis pulls back into his own mind and stares in wonder up into Harry’s green and brown and blue eyes and realizes what Harry is about to say.

Harry unlinks their arms to grab Louis’ hand instead, holding all of it within his own. He kisses Louis’ temple and whispers four words against his skin, like a prayer or a promise or something definitely too pure for him. 

“I love you, Louis.”

Louis’ not sure if he can say it back, or if he even has the right to with what he is, what he’s done. But for once he actually wants to do something that’s good for him. He knows he can’t excuse what he’s done or all the people he’s killed, but maybe he could start to make it better by doing something good, starting with himself.

Louis pulls Harrys face down to his with both hands, in a gentle way that probably shows his desperate need for Harry’s lips, but he doesn’t care. They kiss and Louis can see the glow of the city through his eye lids. He doesn’t say it back, not yet, but the feel of Harry’s breath in his mouth and the sound of his beating heart are constant reminders of Harry’s confession, reasons to be good. Louis pulls back and Harry smiles in a shy way, so Louis kisses his dimples with the softest way he can manage, and whispers back, “You’re the most amazing thing that’s ever happened to me.”

And, surprisingly, it’s true.

.::.

“Since when do places still use wood-burning stoves as the main source of heating?” Harry asks, using a metal poker to adjust the smoldering planks of wood. They’ve made a make-shift bed of pillows and Louis’ velvet duvet and they’re lying, naked, together on the floor. Harry lays back down, pulling Louis close.

Louis likes the feel of Harry’s bare chest on his back as he half sits, half lays in his lap. His heartbeat is both calming and overwhelming, which is a strange feeling. Louis can feel every bum-bump against his back, and on his fingers where his hand lies on Harry’s thigh. And on his ankle where his leg is strung over Harry’s leg. And basically wherever his skin touches Harry’s. He focuses on it because it’s soft and sweet and he doesn’t regret it even though it makes the ache in his throat worse. He doesn’t because it tells him Harry is alive, that Louis hasn’t eclipsed him yet.

Louis shrugs. “Dunno. It warms it up just as well, just takes more work I guess.” He watches the way the hair on Harry’s thighs shifts when he brushes a hand over and back again. It’s such a human thing: to grow. He imagines what Harry will look like in five years, in ten—not all that different, but older. Something Louis will never be.

“It makes for great mood lighting, if anything,” Harry says, kissing the back of Louis’ head. He tugs on Louis’ ear lobe with playful teeth. 

Louis moans and leans his head back to kiss the edge of Harry’s jaw. Stubble pricks at his lips and he loves that Harry is alive and not like him, not some stagnant thing that has to kill to survive. “I like that kind of stuff, you know.”

Harry makes an approving sound. “What, this?” He moves so he can kiss down Louis’ neck to bite at his shoulder. Louis nods in response, his breath coming faster. He runs his hands slowly up and down Harry’s thighs and smiles at the sound of his heartbeat quickening. It’s teasing Louis in more ways than one.

Louis turns and presses wet kisses down Harry’s chest, stomach, and both of his hips. He pauses, with his head low, and kisses soft and small on the tip of Harry’s penis. Harry giggles and moans at the same time and Louis can’t believe this dimpled boy loves _him_ ; out of all the things he can put is faith in, he’s chosen _him_ and Louis is amazed.

“How can you be cute and sexy at the same time?” Louis asks.

Harry frowns in thought. “Guess it’s just one of my many talents.” 

Louis kisses Harry once on the nose before jumping up to grab some lube from his bedside table. He returns and sits on the blanket, his legs straddling Harry. He hooks his ankles behind Harry’s back, bringing their bodies closer together. Harry absently strokes both of their cocks, looking at him with the kind of eyes that burn. And in the flickering flames, they shine.

Louis opens the cap and lets the clear liquid pour over Harry’s hand and the coolness on their sensitive skin causes both of them to take a sharp breath in. Harry speeds up, giving more attention to Louis than himself. Louis pulls Harry’s face to his with one hand, and wraps his hand around Harry’s cock with the other. They moan into each others’ mouths and Louis has to focus all his energy on keeping this fangs well-hidden.

He kisses a little peck onto Harry’s lips and whispers in his ear, “I want you to watch me.”

Harry bites his lip as Louis lays down on his back. With a little more lube on his fingers, he massages himself, slipping the tip of a finger in and out. He rocks his hips and pushes in to the knuckle. He’s not watching Harry, but he can hear him touching himself, hear him softly moaning. He’s not sure he’ll heal as soon as he hurts himself, but he pushes another finger in anyway, then three, without waiting for his muscles to stretch. He’s about to put in a fourth when Harry’s hand stops him. 

Harry sits on his heels and pulls Louis closer, so that Louis’ lower back hovers just off the ground. The look in Harry’s eye makes Louis nervous as he takes both of Louis’ hands and holds them to the floor above his head because he’s never done this before, never let someone else take control. Harry slowly pushes himself inside him and it hurts despite Louis’ efforts to stretch himself. He likes that it hurts in a burning way, because maybe that means he’s not untouchable. Maybe he can pretend to know what it feels like to be mortal again, to be aging and alive and able to be hurt. With every thrust there’s pain and pleasure and Louis loves it. He almost wishes he’d tried this sooner. His arms are still held to the ground under Harry’s firm grip, and Louis arches his back and matches Harry’s thrusts.

Harry leans back until he’s lying on the ground and Louis is riding him, his palms flat on Harry’s chest. Louis moves up and down with his knees on either side of Harry’s hips. The fire is warm on his chest and he it’s hard to breath. He leans back and holds himself up with a shaky arm, his hand behind him on Harry’s thigh, and tries not to think about how weak he’s become. But it all feels so sweet and good and he doesn’t want it to be over. He lets the pleasure overcome the sense of impending doom that’s looming for him. He lets it take over his mind until he’s not thinking about Harry’s blood pumping through his veins, or about how frail and weak he’s become. He just thinks of this and them and right now, this moment is all that matters.

Harry sits up and wraps his arms around Louis’ waist and kisses him. Louis can feel Harry’s heart beating against his chest, feel both of them breathing hard as they move together. “Turn over,” Harry says. Louis feels a twinge of something like fear or relief and does exactly what Harry wants. He rests his forehead on folded arms and Harry runs a hand up Louis’ back then drags his nails down. Louis shivers at the sensation and touches himself. With a hand griping Louis’ shoulder, Harry pushes himself back inside Louis—slow and calm at first, but quickly his thrust turn forceful and hard. He pulls Louis up so his back is flush against his chest. There’s no space left between their bodies. Just skin and warmth and firelight. 

It doesn’t take long, their both grasping at each others’ bodies in ecstasy within minutes: Harry’s arm wrapped around Louis’ chest, Louis’ hand on Harry’s ass. Louis leans his head back on Harry’s shoulder and Harry bites at the soft skin under Louis’ ear lobe, moaning into Louis’ neck as he finishes. The feel of Harry coming inside him takes Louis over the edge and he finishes, matching his hips to Harry’s slowing movements.

After, they lie together watching the way the flames cast shadows on their faces. Louis has his back to the stove and Harry’s sweat still glistens on his chest. Louis leans in to kiss it away, to take more of Harry into him. He imagines that maybe a part of Harry could stay with him, even after all this falls apart, because, Louis knows a falling of sorts is inevitable. It always has been. And Louis remembers the Glamour from the first night they met and wonders if all this is real or just a figment of his own will. 

Harry’s eyes are closed, his head resting in his hand. He smiles absently, like he’s just happy to be lying here on the hard ground in a small apartment with a boy and Louis wants to scream. He wants to be good enough for Harry, wants to be better because he wants to believe that this is real. Wants Harry to love him because he loves him, not because Louis told him to. And, for the first time, Louis thinks that maybe he _is_ capable of love. And maybe this kind of falling isn’t so bad.

.::.

It isn’t until later that Harry brings up The Topic That Is Not Allowed, which threatens to ruin an otherwise actual perfect night. They had moved to his bed, bringing only the duvet with them, and are lying with nothing but silk sheets and skin between them.

“Louis?” Harry says. He’s tracing patterns on Louis’ skin and it’s putting him to sleep. He imagines Harry’s playing connect the dots with his moles and freckles, making something beautiful out of him.

“Mmm?” Louis’ eyes are closed. 

Harry takes a deep breath. “I’m worried about you, Lou.”

In his half-asleep state, Louis doesn’t comprehend the serious note in Harry’s voice. “Worried? Don’t need to be worried.” If Harry really knew the depth of this situation, yeah, maybe then he could be worried. 

“Louis.” There’s a sharpness in his tone that cuts through the air. It wakes Louis up but he leaves his eyes closed. If he doesn’t look, he won’t have to see the way Harry’s mouth is turned down or the way his eyes can’t hold everything in and emotions are spilling out into the space between them until it’s all Louis can feel. Even with his eyes closed. But Harry rests a warm palm on his cheek and Louis opens his eyes because how could he refuse something so tender as the earnest beat of Harry’s heart, pulsing against his hollow cheek.

Harry sighs. “Louis we both know you’re not fooling anyone when you say you're fine. I see you struggling. I see you hurting. Please just tell me what’s going on. Help me understand, so that I can be better at- at helping.”

Louis looks back and forth between Harry’s eyes. If only Harry could actually do anything to help. It’s sweet, really, though futile. It’s sad, too. Because Harry is ready to give everything to help him. But the only thing he could do to help would be just that: to give everything, to give his life. Louis knows Harry wouldn’t give that and he wouldn’t take it if it was offered, at least not intentionally. He hopes it doesn’t come to that.

Louis shrugs, not sure what to say. Not sure what kind of lie to spew this time. Maybe a true one. “You wouldn’t want to know what’s going on in my head,” he says to the mattress.

Harry lets out all the air in his lungs, lying down so his face is just inches away from Louis’. His blood pumps steadily and it’s calming and unnerving and proof that Harry doesn’t know what he’s gotten himself into by falling in love with a vampire. 

“That’s for me to decide, Louis.”

Louis watches Harry watch him. They stare at each other, each with one eye while the other is buried against the mattress. Harry’s hand is still against Louis cheek and he’s glad for the warmth because he’s suddenly too cold and every part of him that’s touching Harry is on fire. Like the old lamp he used to have, the glass sphere with purple static inside and whenever he touched it a little lightning line of static would be drawn to his finger. Except, this time Harry is the ball of static and Louis is the hand, needing more energy and light and static than the lamp could possibly provide.

Louis thinks about how he could begin to explain why he’s been throwing up every meal, why he’s lost so much weight. _Okay, Harry I’m a vampire, but don’t worry I haven’t killed anyone since we met because you were the first person I’d ever fed on but stopped before there was nothing left to save. Oh, yeah, that happened, sorry I forgot to mention that I altered your memory so you wouldn’t remember I tried to kill you. Anyway, yeah. So I haven’t fed since that night so that’s why I look…like this. I saw your memories that night, too; you made me miss something I’d long forgotten. You make me want to be good, or at least better. This is me trying._ It all sounds like shit in Louis’ head. It feels too wrong or too right and Louis’ never known how to find the middle ground. Even before. He hates that he can’t tell Harry anything. He hates that he wants to. He hates that somehow, somewhere along the line, Harry became important. Another shimmering surface that is no longer mysterious or dark, but calm and full and all he needs. He hates Harry so much for this. Except, he doesn’t.

“You can’t help me,” Louis says because it’s the closest thing to the truth that he can offer. His stomach is in knots. His mother used to say that lies by omission were still lies. He guesses he’s known this all along, but now it’s real. She was right.

Harry starts to cry in a way Louis doesn’t even notice at first and that makes it worse somehow. The kind of sadness that sneaks up on you, makes you think you’re okay when you’re not. Louis thinks he knows a thing or two about that. It’s silent and sneaky, but he sees a drop glide over the bridge of Harry’s nose. 

“Louis, please just talk to me.” And his voice sounds broken and Louis never meant to be the one to break him, he never meant to hurt him. He’s been protecting Harry, but he can’t explain that now. All Harry sees is a shrunken, self-loathing man who is slowly starving himself to death.

So he can’t feed and he can’t _not_ feed, so that leaves two options: leave or die. But either one would mean he’d be away from here, away from Harry. Neither one sounds okay at all and he finds a tenseness in his throat that reminds him of emotions he hasn’t felt for way too long. He swallows it away.

“I- I don’t know what to do anymore. I’m-” he clears his throat. “I’m stuck. And all I do is hurt people.” Louis closes his eyes. “You wouldn’t like me if you knew me,” he whispers.

He hears Harry shake his head. But he doesn’t know. He can’t know. He can never know.

“Louis, you’re wrong. I know that’s how you might feel now, but it’s not true. You’ve brought a brightness to my life again. You’ve helped me discover things about myself that I wouldn’t have otherwise.”

But _he’s_ the one who is wrong. Louis _has_ hurt him. He fed from him, he was planning on killing him. The only reason he didn’t was because of a stupid image of a pretty boy jumping into a lake. And Harry seems to be forgetting the time he pushed Harry away so hard his head smacked into the mirror. How could he forget that? It was a miracle that Harry forgave him for that, he couldn’t possibly forgive almost killing him. He couldn’t love him if he knew how much of a monster he is.

It’s Louis’ turn to shake his head. “You don’t know.”

“Then tell me!”

Louis opens his eyes and sees Harry looking at him with an earnestness that surprises him.

So, he does. He tells him whatever Harry wants to hear because he can’t ruin this. He spent so long alone and it’s been so long since he’s felt warm and worth it and he can’t just give that up. He cuddles up to Harry and promises to do better, promises to see the therapist Harry suggests even, anything to end this conversation and anything to convince Harry that things will be better, that Louis can actually _get_ better. And most of them are lies, because who would he be without his lies? 

It’s Louis who falls asleep first. He doesn’t worry about the stove still burning or about what Harry will think once he’s fallen asleep. And he’s not worried about whether or not Harry will be here when he wakes up. Because he knows he will. A part of him wants to hate that he’s so sure and another wants to hate that he needs it so much. That he needs the feel of this human by his side and needs to wake up to those same sleepy green eyes in order to feel right with the world. Even when his own little world is so, so wrong.

.::.::.

Louis decides that christmastime in Seattle is the most beautiful thing. The space needle is lit up with a giant tree made of lights and icicle lights hang from balconies and the Salvation Army volunteers ring their bells and it sounds like Santa’s on his way.

Quite by accident, Louis discovers that Pike Place is open for a couple weeks for the 12 Days of Christmas Night Market and he couldn’t be more excited. He’s only ever seen Pike Place when its stalls are empty of vendors and the only things that remain are smells of fish and flowers. Walking through the small crowds of people, Louis almost texts Harry to meet him, but doesn’t. It’s nice to be alone sometimes, to watch as others talk and laugh and understand we’re all just trying to get through one day at a time.

He’s exhausted and the noise from everyone’s shuffling feet and hot breath on cold air is making it hard to think straight. That and he hasn't been around this many people since the day he went to the grocery store, and even then the scent of blood wasn’t so strong. He doesn’t even really have the money to buy anything because he should save what little money he has for rent, and he doesn’t have the energy to Glamour, but he walks between the booths and eyes the trinkets and honey and dried fruit that are being sold. Because despite being miserable, it’s actually kind of nice here. He stops at a handmade jewelry vender and a small silver chain with a single black pearl catches his eye.

“May I?” he asks, gesturing toward the necklace. The vendor eyes him, but nods.

The pearl is small and it’s not a perfect sphere, but its colors are amazing. It’s black, but it’s also metallic blue. It’s dull, but somehow it shines when you hold it just right. It’s beautiful. Harry would love it.

“How much?” Louis asks, looking up. The vendor is smiling at his appreciation of his craft.

“One-twenty,” he says.

Louis wipes the images of Harry fawning over this necklace out of his mind. He can’t afford that; he probably barely has ninety dollars in cash but that’s just his tips he’s saved over the past week. Living like a human working a minimum wage job isn’t possible even when he doesn’t need to eat.

“Oh.” He sets the necklace down and straightens out the chain. “It’s very beautiful, though.”

He’s turning to go, almost glad because he really needs to go lay down, but the vendor holds up a hand. “I can do ninety-five.”

Louis’ face breaks into a smile, but falls when he checks his wallet. “Eighty-seven…” Louis counts, unzipping the coin pocket and pulls out two quarters and a dime. “And sixty cents?” he offers hesitantly.

The vendor face is hard, like he won’t go lower, and Louis almost puts his wallet away. But after a moment, his expression softens and he breathes out deeply. “Fine, kid. It’s yours,” he says, holding out his hand for Louis’ money. 

Louis hands it to him and picks up the necklace again, holding it firm in his hand like the vendor is going to change his mind. 

“Want a gift box?” the man asks. Louis nods and a moment later he has a small black box with a silver bow in his hand. He feels like bouncing all the way home, but chooses not to. Either because that’s ridiculous or because he can’t seem to breathe right and his legs feel like they could give out at any moment. He thinks that maybe, buying this gift is worth all that.

.::.::.

It isn’t until the second week of December that Louis spends time with Harry that doesn’t involve the majority of the time spent studying or doing homework or sleeping. But Harry had his last final of the quarter so he’s headed over to string popcorn and decorate Louis’ tree.

Louis had picked it up the night before, and, it being the last night of the christmas market, there weren’t many options. So he has a pretty bare looking noble fir that’s missing a couple branches but it’s his first real tree and he loves it.

Harry walks in with two bottles of wine raised above his head. “Are you RED-AAYYY?” he asks like a wrestling match commentator. The room is mostly dark, the only light coming from the wood burning stove. Harry pauses, letting his eyes get used to the darkness, used to Louis’ habit of leaving the lights off.

From where he’s sitting on his bed, Louis rolls his eyes. He won’t admit he’s been in bed all day, resting up for tonight. “Dork.”

“OMG your tree,” Harry says, trying not to laugh. “I thought it was just, like, a snapchat filter that made it look—”

“Made it look, what? Like the most beautiful tree you’ve ever laid eyes on?!” Louis asks. Behind his hand he whispers, “Not in front of Mike.”

“You named your tree Mike,” Harry deadpans.

Louis stands. He straightens out his clothes as an excuse to steady himself before taking the wine bottles from Harry and kissing him on the cheek. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I did. I’m offended you thought I didn’t care so much as to not name my tree.” He sets the wine on the kitchen counter and gets out his corkscrew.

Harry laughs. “Of course, how rude. Will you ever forgive me?”

Louis opens one bottle and walks back to his bed and sits beside Harry. “On one condition.” Louis takes a sip of the wine straight from the bottle. “You have to sing and dance to christmas music.”

Harry barks out a laugh, and steals the bottle from Louis’ grip. He takes a drink and then uses it as a microphone.

“Santa, baby, slip a sable under the tree, for me,” Harry sings in a raspy, low voice. He turns and looks over his shoulder. “Been an awful good girl.”

“Ow, ow, ow!” Louis claps, grinning so big his face hurts.

“Louis, baby, and hurry down my chimney tonight,” he sings, but he breaks out in laughter not able to hold a straight face anymore and flops back on the bed handing Louis the wine. 

Louis looks down at him. “I’d say that about covers it.”

Harry smirks. “Oh, honey you’re not getting out of singing that easily. We’re singing carols all night, baby.”

Louis shakes his head in disbelief. “What have I created.”

Harry just laughs and steals the bottle from Louis’ hand before standing up. “Aren’t we supposed to be decorating?”

Louis rolls onto his back and looks up at Harry. He’s a whole foot taller than the tree. The light from the wood stove flickers up and casts shadows on his face in all the wrong places. Like when you say a word so much it loses meaning, but with light and moving shadows. Like when you see a face so often, you begin to see more than just a face, but dreams and quirks until you begin to see something else entirely. Something like love.

“I bought some decorations.” Louis points to a brown paper bag near the door.

Harry brings the bag over to the light and sits criss-cross on the hardwood floors as he pulls out the supplies Louis had bought, one by one. “Okay. We’ve got clear ornaments, clear thread, a sewing kit, red ribbon, lights, and a little black box.”

Shit. Louis was supposed to have hidden that. “Lou, what’s this?” Harry asks in a suspiciously playful voice.

Louis jumps up and grabs it out of Harry’s hand and his head is fuzzy and eyes dizzy from standing too quickly. “ _That_ , my dear, is not for your eyes…,” he pauses for dramatic effect and is glad for the excuse to breathe for a moment. “Yet.”

Harry rolls onto his back, pouting. Louis wonders if the shadows on his own face are now mirroring the way they made Harry’s look a second ago. He wonders if, maybe, Harry can see all his dark and shadow places and he still wants to stay.

Harry smiles. His eyes shine and Louis can’t tell if it’s the flicker of the flames or if there really is something mischievous behind those lashes. Harry wiggles his eyebrows. “What’d you get me?”

Louis rolls his eyes, setting the gift under the tree for safekeeping. “A lump of coal.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize I was on the naughty list.” Harry shrugs. “Maybe I should start acting accordingly?” He gently drags his fingers down his side in a slow way that should not be sexy but the look in those eyes could turn any simple action into something sensual. Louis blinks slowly, trying to keep track of his breath. 

Louis borrows Harry’s line. “Aren’t we supposed to be decorating?”

Harry drops his arms to the floor with a dopey smile. His wrists rest up and open, almost more distracting than Harry’s proposition to act naughty, and Louis has to force himself to look away. 

“Okay, fine. But don’t forget about my spankings later,” Harry says with a wink.

Louis laughs. “Of course.” Louis turns toward the kitchen, smiling. “How could I forget?”

He hears Harry stand and follow him, flicking on the kitchen light after Louis pays no attention to it. Louis should probably try harder to act human, but he doesn’t have the energy to pretend to be afraid of the dark. He grabs a pot and pours some popcorn kernels into it before lighting the propane burner and placing it on the dark iron. 

Harry watches him, Louis can feel his eyes trail on his skin. He’s used to Harry’s habit of taking account of everything that’s slowly disappearing from him. Something about his two and a half week old, half-felt promises to be better make him start talking. He tells himself it’s because it makes him sound more human, but a part off him knows that’s just another lie.

“We used to string popcorn every year,” he begins, slowly. Like he’s testing the waters, like he’s not sure if he wants to let his head slip under. Harry sits on a stool at the kitchen bar and listens. “We had this popcorn popper that was huge and clunky and it even had a spot to melt butter at the top.” 

He smiles to himself, watching the first of the kernels start to twitch and hop. He remembers being young and holding Daisy on his hip because she wanted to watch too. She loved it so much. She said they were like little butterflies, but he told her they were little flowers, blooming. Just like her. She was five and he was sixteen and neither of them could have ever guessed that he wouldn’t be around to see her grow up, to see her bloom.

Harry’s voice draws him back to his apartment. “Lou?”

Louis turns to look at him. His throat hurts again. “Yes, love?”

There’s a sweet sadness in Harrys eyes. “You miss them at lot, huh?”

Louis sighs. He doesn’t to talk about his anymore. He regrets bringing up their stupid popcorn maker. “Sure.” He shrugs.

“You know, holding things in is a coping mechanism that doesn’t really work.” He gets up and stands behind Louis, his hands resting on Louis’ hips. “I should know; I used to do that and it built up until it was all I could feel.” 

Louis should shrug him off, push him away. He doesn’t need advice on how to handle his emotions because he has to live with what he’s done and he shouldn’t be pitied or cared for. He should forget about all this petty shit and go back to being a killer, go back to life as another shadow because then, he won’t have abandoned his family for nothing. At least then, he’d have an excuse to stay away. But he’s just so tired. Too tired to protest as Harry holds him closer, as Harry shows how much he cares through the tender touch of his hands and warm arms. 

Harry speaks again, this time quietly and in Louis’ ear. His voice is low and secret, like he doesn’t know if he should share this. “It became too much, Lou. I hated every second I was alive because all I could think about was _him_. I almost—I tried to—” He clears his throat. “It all built up and I thought the only solution was to not exist anymore. I didn’t know this then, but that’s not a solution; it’s just another ending. I’m glad it didn’t work.”

Louis should push him off, because that’s what the old him would do. But he’s not that person anymore, he reminds himself. It’s strange, but true. He turns around in Harry’s arms to face him. The popcorn is popping and it’s loud but it’s grounding. The heat from the propane flames warms his back. He looks up at Harry. He should feed. He should leave this place. He should do a lot of things, but he won’t. Not when he’s come so far. Not when everything he thought was impossible is just within reach.

“I will never get tired of reminding you you're worth it, if that’s what you need. I’ll remind you every morning and every night and anytime in between. Because I love you.”

Louis smiles small and closes his eyes. He’s not used to the idea that someone could love him. He pretends it’s real, pretends it’s what Harry really feels. Because maybe Harry’s right, maybe he does need stop holding things in. 

Harry kisses each of his eyes hard and soft and full of feeling and Louis leans farther into Harry’s arms and it takes all of his strength to pretend his ear isn’t pressed to Harry’s heart. And it scares him that theres still a part of him that wants to kill Harry, the part of him that wants to stay alive. But he’s not that person anymore, he reminds himself again. He’s not, right?

Harry smells like lavender and peppermint. It doesn’t mask the scent of Harry’s blood, but it almost helps. He focuses on Harry’s warmth combined with the heat of the small flames at his back. It’s nearly intoxicating, nearly enough for him to forget, for a moment, that he actually doesn’t deserve any of this.

.::.

"Lou?" Harry says from the kitchen.

Louis' lying in his bed reading _Nox_. His arms are sore from hanging ornaments and his fingertips hurt from the accidental needle pokes while they were stringing popcorn. He stores away the pain because it proves his body is failing and he tries not to think about how dry his mouth is. 

They finished decorating about an hour ago. Mike stands against the wall, between the wood stove and the windows, looking handsome in its new christmas cheer. Louis watches the light from the flames dance on the clear glass of the ornaments as it melds with the stagnant white light of the christmas lights strung around the tree and wonders which kind is better. He guesses that the flames are too full of shadows, too unsteady and hot and consuming. He knows a lot about that kind of thing. 

"Yes, love?" Louis says, not looking away from the ornaments as they glow and shine. 

"Uhh, when's the last time you went trough your fridge?"

Still distracted, Louis asks, “Dunno, why?"

When Harry doesn't reply Louis looks up. He's gingerly holding an overripe bundle of bananas that are completely black and a container of pasta that looks fuzzy and green in all the worst ways. Louis' stomach tightens. He was supposed to clean that out overtime so it seemed like he was eating it. It’s too late anyway, because Harry already knows about his whole Not Eating gig and he’s probably known for a lot longer than Louis even realized. Plus, he had totally forgotten about his plan to slowly throw out the food and he can’t do anything to change the past. He wonders if he forgot because he’s just not used to pretending or if it has to do with something more serious, like raw fingertips or feverish wake-up calls in the night. He tells himself it’s not important to dwell on these kinds of things and watches Harry disappear behind the refrigerator door again. 

Louis hears him moving things around. "Louis," Harry says. His voice sounds serious in a scary way. Louis puts his book down because he knows what's coming. 

"Everything in here is expired, moldy, or both." He holds up two containers of pasta. "Both of these are still sealed. Lou, you promised to- to at least try.”

Louis doesn't know what to say that he hasn't already. He had told Harry he’d work on eating more (lie), that he’d reflect on why this is happening (lie), that he’d see the therapist Harry had suggested (half-lie?). He decides to tell the truth. “I bought that all weeks ago. I honestly forgot about it. ”

Louis watches Harry's eyes as they move over his hollow face, his skinny frame, and they turn from frustrated to kind and sad. He blinks in a tired way before throwing every rotten thing in the garbage. Louis feels something shift in the air with every hollow thud hitting the inside of his empty garbage can. Like the unspoken words of explanation are being drummed against old aluminum. It somehow feels like so long ago he and Harry were decorating and sharing sweet quiet moments between christmas songs and arguing where Mike would want the ribbon or ornaments or strings of flowery-popped popcorn if it could talk. It feels colder now, and he pulls his duvet over him. He can see it clearer, more than ever, how him starving is slowly eating away at Harry more and more. Because Harry just wants to make people happy, he just want Louis to be happy and he thinks he can fix all of Louis’ broken bits, but he can’t. And Louis never meant to hurt him. He curls himself into a ball and let's his book fall to the floor, wondering if it lands on the same page with the sliver of a person.

He knows he did this to himself. If he had just killed Harry or glamoured him into leaving or if he'd just left town like he always did, none of this would have happened. He wouldn't be starved to a sliver and Harry wouldn't be here, beautiful and stupidly human and his. They wouldn't belong to each other. None of this would matter and Louis could forget. This long haired, green eyed, dimpled boy would just be another meal, another person dead because of him. Or another forgotten face. And it scares him to realize that, even though he's miserable, he's glad for the feel of Harry's warm body sliding under the covers behind him.

The christmas lights mingle with the firelight and Louis considers the possibility, that despite all odds, a vampire fell in love.

.::.::.

Louis wakes to the smell of fear. It’s not his. Harry’s frantic voice repeats his name. “Louis! Louis! Louislouis!”

Louis is convulsing between his deep red sheets and he doesn’t know why. He’s fallen to the floor but his limbs are so wrapped up in his sheets that he took them to the ground with him. He can’t seem to think straight and Harry’s emotions are overwhelming him. He wants to tell Harry to calm down, but he can’t make his mouth move. Harry moves in and out of focus and Louis’ veins are on fire. 

“Help!! Someone help!” Harry is trying to hold Louis together, but he’s thrashing apart. “It’s gonna be okay, Lou, I’m calling 911.”

“They can’t help him,” DJ says. Louis is confused. How hadn’t he heard her come in?

“DJ, we gotta take him to a hospital. They’ll save him.”

“No.” DJ is calm. Like she knew this was going to happen. “They’ll kill him. Or worse.”

Louis tries to see the scene before him, but all he sees is the dark room aglow from the Christmas tree in the corner. It’s odd that it’s so dark. He can’t even see through the bond with Harry.

“They’ll save him.” Harry’s voice breaks, “They have to.”

“Harry, he has to feed. I need you to help me, okay?” Louis would tell her to shut up, if he wasn’t in so much pain. 

Harry scoffs. “Of course I know he needs to eat. He hasn’t without puking it back up in weeks.”

DJ almost scoffs. Louis thinks only he heard it. “Can you hold his arms down? He might try to kill me.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Harry, his arms!”  
Louis feels Harry’s hands on his biceps, strong and full and warm. He doesn’t believe what’s happening, but the thought of blood makes his skin crawl. His muscles are dry as they jolt his bones on the hardwood floors. He doesn’t have any time to think before something cold and plastic is pressed to his mouth, but he smells it. His fangs are out and he’s biting through the bag and drinking drinking drinking.

“What is- Is that blood?”

With his eyes closed, Louis feels his body absorbing the nutrients almost as soon as he swallows each gulp. He feels the bond with Harry grow stronger, so strong that it shows how clouded his mind has been the last few weeks. Harry, seeing the blood dripping down Louis’ chin, gasps and takes a few steps backward.

“Harry…,” DJ says. But what can she say? That she’s known all along? That she's a witch and he’s a vampire and they aren’t just myths or legends. Louis’ bag has run dry so she supplies him with another.

He thinks back to the last few weeks with a clarity that’s dizzying. He wasn’t being clever or sneaky at all. He wasn’t outsmarting anyone. The only one he was fooling was himself. And even he couldn’t see that.

His mind turns to the memories of jumping into still lakes, of skateboarding on asphalt and dodging potholes, of a tan-skinned boy full of summer and sun and life and Louis’ chest is tight because those fleeting images were the only thing that made any of this possible. He’s reminded of the night him and Harry went to Kerry park, the night they spent under the stars and over the city. He remembers how the skyline seemed so far away and lit just for them, fuzzy in a way that seemed touchable. More real than the imaginary universes Louis was so used to living in, hiding in. He thinks of how he’s spent so many nights memorizing the feel of Harry’s body beside his, understanding the beat of his heart, and he wonders if none of this was fake at all.

Louis opens his eyes, sucking every last drop from the next bag of blood DJ hands him. He takes a breath and closes his eyes, retracting his fangs and pulling his head back. DJ nods, as if they had just completed a business transaction. Louis wipes the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. He looks between Harry and DJ and back again. Harry looks disgusted or scared or shocked or all of them combined. 

He never thought he’d be glad to hear the rats running around above his head, but he is. His hunger clouded his mind so much he hadn’t even fully noticed as his senses were slowly stripped from him. Everything feels so clear and awake and alive. Especially Harry, as he looks at Louis in a way a another Louis, from another time, would have loved. He’s surprised to remember he used to love seeing fear in people’s eyes. Now he feels ashamed.

Louis sees DJ motion to Harry with her eyes. Louis nods small. But he doesn’t know what to say. There’s nothing to say that doesn’t prove that he hasn’t actually been lying this whole time. There’s no way to make this okay or for Harry to end up wanting to sleep by his side tonight.

DJ takes a deep breath. “Harry, dear, can you go get me a towel to clean some of this up, please?”

Harry nods, his eyes vacant, like he’s still processing what just happened. Which Louis figures is a perfectly viable response to finding out, in the almost worst way possible, that your boyfriend is actually a vampire. Harry’s muscles are steady as he gets up to search for what DJ requested, but his heartbeat is quick, too quick for how calm he appears. 

He returns with two rags, one damp and one dry. He hands the dry one to DJ and the damp one to Louis. There must be dried blood still on his face. Harry watches with a pained expression as Louis wipes his face and chin. 

“Harry-” Louis starts to apologize, but Harry cuts him off.

“DJ. Do you need anything else?”

DJ silently shakes her head. He nods once, and turns on his heal to the bathroom. The door doesn’t slam behind him, but closes gently, like he held the doorknob so he wouldn’t have to hear the door click into place.

“You have to tell him.”

Louis hears Harry sit on the toilet seat, feels Harry hold his head in his hands. “Don’t you think he got the picture?” is Louis’ snark reply.

DJ shakes her head. “No, Louis. You have to tell him— _everything_.”

Memories of the night he and Harry met flood his mind. Harry, with leaves in his hair strewn out around his head framing his pale face like some kind of morbidly beautiful crown. Harry, with Louis’ blood dripped on his skin, shining dark in the moonlight. Harry, with Louis’ powerful suggestions clouding his mind, forever altering their realities in relation to one another. Harry, who never knew what he signed up for when he went to work at the bar that night.

Louis opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out but a hesitant breath. He clears his throat even though there’s no itch anymore, no dry scratch. “I don’t know how.”

DJ looks down at her hands, brows furrowed. “Do you love him?”

Louis meets her eyes as she looks up. “With everything I am.” It’s the first time he says it out loud and as soon as he does the whole room feels vaster, like with this confession he’s somehow smaller, somehow real and here and on this side of the universe. The side where witches are selfless and kind and vampires fall in love with humans.

She nods and there’s a defiance in her eyes that says there’s nothing else to it. If he loves Harry then he’ll tell him the truth and unravel this life he’s created out of nothing, built up from the shadows. It’ll fall apart and he’ll be cast back into the darkness he came from and, Louis figures, it’s rather fitting.

Harry stands and opens the door. He stands just past the kitchen and looks between Louis and DJ, sensing they were just in the middle of talking.

“Don’t mind me. It seems you two are very good at keeping secrets.” He starts gathering up his things, but, over the last few months, his things have been building up and he’s too preoccupied to realize he couldn’t possibly bring all of it with him. “I’ll be out of your hair in no time, don’t worry.”

Louis jolts up and over to him at top speed, not used to having the energy, not used to having to hold back. This is a mistake. He’s in front of Harry in less than a second and Harry jumps back, dropping everything he’s picked up. His composure had started to slip as his arms grew full of clothes and now that they’re empty, it’s completely shot. He’s crying in a quiet way like that’ll hide the truth.

Louis puts out a hand, trying to console Harry’s shaking breaths and racing heart. Harry flinches away. “DON’T—don’t touch me.”

Louis’ hand falls limp to his side. “Babe, it’s me. I’m the same person you met, the same person you fell in love with,” Louis says, but he knows it’s a lie. He’s not the same person—he’s better. Harry and his love has made Louis so much more than he ever thought he could be. He never thought he was capable, or even worthy, of love. Which is something he thinks started long before he Changed, but only got worse when he became a bloodthirsty killer. If he hadn’t met Harry, he feels he would have sunk into the darkness that he surrounded himself in. He never would have learned how to float.

“You’re seriously trying to play that card?” Harry asks with flat eyes. They’re seeing Louis for what he truly is and that’s what Louis’ been so afraid of: that Harry will see behind his façade, and be disgusted by what he finds. He shouldn’t be surprised, though. Louis knows this was never an option for him. He was never meant to have someone who cares for him, who loves him. He was never meant for happiness.

Louis decides to be genuine, figuring that that’s all he has left to give. “Everything I did, I did because I was selfish— _am_ selfish. I could have broken things off, could have skipped town. But I didn’t. Because I saw something in you and I just wanted someone to see something in me and I thought maybe that someone could be you. I just wanted to love and be loved in return, but I was too ashamed to admit that because, being what I am, I can’t be vulnerable or small or want anything but death and blood and destruction. I know I messed up, but I also know that I love you. And you love me.”

Louis sighs, feeling bare and naked. He feels DJ trying to breathe quietly, still sitting on the floor near his bed, where moments ago he was dying. 

Harry starts to pick up his clothes again, scoffing. “I thought you were _sick_ , Louis. I thought I could help you. I saw bits of myself in you, but you’re not me—you’re just some fairytale nightmare brought to life. Zayn was right.”

Harry turns his back and walks out of the room, leaving the door wide open. He doesn’t wait for the elevator, but chooses the stairs instead because they’re faster and the elevator in this building is ancient. The doorway reveals the empty hallway and the space feels too absent to breathe. Louis thinks back on the last three and a half months. Three and a half months of the happiest memories he’s had in a long time. 

He feels guilty for the energy he has, for the fight back in his bones. He doesn’t deserve it. He never deserved any of this. And neither did Harry.

“I’m sorry,” he says, even though Harry can’t hear him, even though nothing matters anymore.

.::.::.

It’s two days before Christmas Day and Louis knows Harry is home alone. He can sense him upstairs in his room, lying tummy down on his mattress, can see the same unfocused image of Harry’s room that Harry can see. It’s already been two days since Louis almost died. Two days since Harry found out about him. He’s not really sure what he’s going to say. He fiddles with the silver bow on the small black box in his hand. He knocks on Harry’s door anyway.

He listens to Harry sigh and push himself off his bed to make his way down the stairs to the front door. Louis closes his eyes and sees himself through the peephole in the door, as Harry pauses to glance at him. He’s holding his breath, but Louis can still hear his racing heart, the blood in his veins, the small sounds of friction his muscles make as he strains to stand completely still.

Louis sighs and opens his eyes. “Harry- Babe, I know you’re right there. Can we please talk? I owe you that much, at least.”

His eyes are pleading and he doesn’t need to see himself through Harry’s eyes to know that. He just wants things to go back to normal. But what they had _wasn’t_ normal. He’s a vampire and Harry is a human. He was starving and Harry thought he could help. He was lying and Harry believed him. Nothing about this has been normal, but it’s been _good_. And Louis already misses the feel of Harry asleep next to him.

Harry lets out his breath in a loud huff and unlocks the door, the sound of the deadbolt slamming open rings in Louis’ ears as Harry turns and walks back to his room without opening the door. Louis sighs and follows Harry up the stairs, making sure to move at a human pace despite his renewed energy.

Harry’s siting on his bed with his back against the wall. He doesn’t look at Louis when he walks in.

Louis stands in the doorway, not sure if he’s welcome to come any closer. He’s really not sure how to go about this; all the other times people found out he was a vampire they were dead before they had a chance to truly process anything. Or they were supernatural, too. But this is different. People he killed, they never had months of getting to know him, of falling in love with him. He never wanted them to love him. Things with Harry are so weird and different and Louis can’t figure out where to start.

Harry’s heartbeat picks up. “So that time in the bathroom, on Halloween, it was my blood. It freaked you out because you were…hungry?” He looks up and meets Louis’ eyes.

“Exactly. I hadn’t,” Louis clears his throat, “fed since the night we met. I was drunk and hungry and that’s why I didn’t realize how much force I used to push you away. I just didn’t want to hurt you.”

Harry’s brow furrows. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Would you have believed me if I did?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. You could have at least tried.”

“And risk losing you?” If Louis’ heart still beat, it would be racing. “Not worth it.”

“Do you even know how worried I’ve been about you? I was convinced you had an eating disorder. I was trying to help you, but I guess I knew that no matter what I did or how much I loved you I couldn’t make you better. Couldn’t make you believe how wonderful you were. But this whole time you were just _fine_?”

“I wasn’t fine, Harry. I almost starved to death.”

“But you’ve killed people.” 

Louis nods, finally opting for the truth. “Yes, I’ve killed people.”

“But not while we were together, that’s why you were sick?”Louis looks up and Harry meets his eyes. “You made me rethink everything. I didn’t want to hurt anyone anymore.” 

“I could have helped, if I had known,” Harry says. He pulls on the edge of his blanket, fiddling with the corner. “Do you have any idea what you put me through?”

Louis, confused by the feelings inside him, knows he’s possibly making a bad situation worse by taking DJ’s advice and telling all the truths, not just one. He looks at his hands as he says, “Actually, I do.”

Harry blinks in a slow way that scares Louis. “What?”

“What do you remember about the night we met?”

“What the fuck does that have to do with anything, Louis?”

“Can you please just tell me what you remember?”

Harry lets out a huff of air and speaks too fast. “You were walking alone at Alki. You looked cute and interesting. We talked and walked together. I tripped and you overreacted, and then we sat under an oak tree and kissed and it wasn’t cheesy at all and I had great time.”

Louis doesn’t want to say what he’s about to say. He’d rather do anything else, anything but break Harry’s trust. But DJ was right, he can’t live a life shrouded in lies if he wants happiness. He never believed happiness was possible for him. Now he knows he was right all along. Even if he doesn’t kill, he always ends up hurting people one way or another.

He clears his throat. “That’s not what happened.”

“You can’t convince me it didn’t happen that way when I know it did.”

“Actually, I can,” he pauses, trying hard not to look away from Harry’s eyes. “And I did.”

Harry stares at him blankly. “What are you talking about?”

“The first time I saw you was while you were working, at the bar. My goal was to seduce you into going somewhere secluded so I could—” Louis’s never been so ashamed to say ‘feed’ so he doesn’t. “I made you meet me at Alki because I knew it would be deserted.”

“You were going to kill me.”

“That was my plan, yes,” Louis says. He continues on, rushing through every word. “But something was different with you, Harry. Once I started, I was reminded of what the sun felt like. I hadn’t remembered the sun fondly for years, Harry. Years. And I saw you—I don’t know how, but I saw you. I saw you in the sun, skateboarding and jumping off docks, with your shining curls. I saw how alive you were and I stopped. But you were dying. So I gave you my blood and it healed you. I told you nothing happened—I made you believe me, made you forget what I had done. Made you believe I was good.”

Harry’s heartbeat quickens, jaw tight. “You made me love you?”

Louis doesn’t know what to say because he’s not sure how much Glamours effect longterm interactions because, before a handful of months ago, he’d never actually had that many interactions with humans longer than a few hours. He thinks back to his conversation with DJ earlier: he has to be completely honest.

Louis shakes his head. “Not intensionally! I don’t know. I don’t know how any of this works with—with emotions and feelings and things I just know I can’t reverse it once it’s done. I wish i could. So bad. I’ve never wanted to, before I met you.”

Harry laughs. “Please. Save it, Louis. You can’t pull that shit on me after telling me you had every intention of killing me, almost killed me, and then changed your mind. I’m alive because you wanted me alive. And I can’t even trust my own emotions because you probably made me feel those, too.” He looks Louis in the eyes. “I want you to leave.”

Louis can feel the pull of Harry’s request on him, urging him to turn and leave. Once a human says those words, a vampire has no choice but to leave. Louis wonders if Harry knows that.

“DJ,” Louis says softly, “DJ can take away the Glamours I put on you. Then you’ll know what you need to know.”

He sets his gift on the dresser beside Harry’s door before walking down the stairs. He runs all the way home, nothing but a blurry shadow in the night. He’s glad his sheets are red, because he never knew crying would be so bloody.

.::.::.

It’s Christmas Eve and Louis doesn’t know what to do with himself. Thelma and James are north in Lynwood with Thel’s family, DJ is south in Tacoma with Monty and her family, and Harry is here, in Seattle, alone in his house. Louis wants to go over there, to beg for forgiveness or for Harry to look at him like he used to or for anything better than how things are now. But he knows Harry needs time. He may even need forever. Louis has to accept that he can’t always get everything he wants. Maybe it’s better that way.

He finished reading _Nox_ and feels haunted by the memory of himself. Of who he used to be before now, who he was before he became a vampire. He thinks of how different his life would be, if Eleanor hadn’t been walking on the street that night. His _maker_. He wonders if it would have been better to have just died upon impact when he crashed his car. He thinks of what Harry had said about that kind of solution being just another ending. Louis wonders if maybe Harry would have said something different, if he knew it was either die or become a thing that spreads death everywhere it goes. He’s not so sure what his answer would be. 

He’s standing and getting dressed before he realizes what he’s doing. He’s pulling on a sweater Harry had left and an old scarf and gloves even though he knows he won’t need them. The temperature won’t bother him anymore. It’s nice, though, to feel bundled up. It reminds him of Harry.

The sun has long set and it feels so strange to be walking around Seattle in the night, not cold or hungry or feeling much of anything at all. At least when he arrived here, he had a fight in him. Now he’s just, breathing out of habit.

His feet take him on unfamiliar streets, his heart guiding him to a place he doesn't think he’ll ever forget. He doesn’t realize until he’s standing in front of an iron fence that he was walking here all along, to Kerry Park. 

The city looks different alone. It’s not fuzzy or flickering—it just is. The sound of cars on asphalt are deafening and the sound of all the electricity humming around him is almost too much to bear. He could feel it all before, but something about it has changed. He thinks that maybe something about _him_ has changed. Like the way he perceives time or how he wishes he couldn’t hear people’s TVs on in the houses behind him. Like the way he wishes this all ended differently. It’s just, without the constant hunger and thirst and without the fear of becoming some weak, half version of himself, he’s left with only two things: emotions that are too much for him to take and the sound of everyone living their lives, going on without the slightest inkling that a vampire’s heart is breaking.

He stares at the mountain towering over the city and realizes what Harry had meant. It _is_ incredible. He can see it clearly, now, even with the clouds. He’s amazed his senses were so shot he couldn’t even see this giant standing on the horizon. He sighs, shoving his hands deeper in his pockets, thinking how much warmer they’d be in Harry’s hands. 

He stays there for hours, but he doesn’t count the seconds. He doesn’t want to waste his energy keeping track of minutes that don’t matter anymore. He realizes how long he’s been standing there when he starts to see the wisps of sunlight hinting the sky to he east. It slowly grows brighter and brighter until the clouds are a twilight blue and his eyes are aching. He considers staying here, out under the rising sun. But, ultimately, he knows his selfishness has always guided his actions and that won’t stop now. He doesn’t want to die a horrible, blistering death when there’s a possibility that Harry could forgive him.

So he turns and runs home in the early morning light, as hints of reds and pinks grow fuzzy and soft along the clouds. He wonders if sunrises have always been this beautiful, or if it’s the empty feeling inside that tells him this is what he’s been missing that makes him yearn for more cotton candy skies and warm sun on skin.

There’s a bag with a cartoon Santa on it sitting under his tree when he walks through his front door. There’s something strange about the air and he’s reminded of black potions and changes in air pressure that he didn’t have the strength to perceive when he was starving. It’s that reason his mind turns to DJ. That, and the smell of blood and plastic. 

Sure enough, there are a few bags of blood within the Santa bag and Louis almost laughs to himself. DJ probably thought it would be funny to have a present magically appear under his tree, as if Santa sent it himself. But Louis has a feeling Santa wouldn’t support bloodthirsty killers. 

Under the blood, there’s a slip of paper with a sloppy note. _You did the right thing -DJ_

He sighs, almost drinking it just because its here and in his hands. But he decides to wait, to save it for when he might need it more. He’s not so sure how often he’ll be getting these free “meals.” So, with the bags of blood resting on cold plastic shelves in his refrigerator, he lies down to sleep, letting the sounds of a slowly awakening city on Christmas Morning, lull him to another dreamless sleep.

.::.::.

Louis wakes the evening after Christmas to the sound of Harry’s heartbeat. He stays in bed, listening to what will happen. Harry’s sitting on the curb outside, breathing fast. The bell dings as the door opens, and Louis can hear DJ’s voice perfectly. She sounds surprised, but happy.

“Hey, Harry.”

Harry speaks quietly. “He said you could erase what he did to my mind.”

DJ is quiet for a moment. “I can. But you have to know it’s not an easy process. It can-”

Harry talks over her. “I want it. I need to know what was real and what was—him.”

DJ takes a breath. “If you're sure.”

“I am.”

Louis listens as DJ takes Harry through the kitchen to her office in the back. She has him sit in her chair while she rummages through drawers. “Do you have anything with his DNA?”

Harry scoffs, “If he even has any.”

DJ looks at him. “Do you have anything with his DNA?” she repeats.

Louis knows he doesn’t. He gets out of bed. He mirrors DJ as she sifts through her office for something as he’s searching through a couple drawers in his kitchen until he finds a pair of scissors.

“No,” Harry says.

He runs down the stairs, cutting off a small chunk of hair while he does so. He’s not used to having so much energy back. It makes him feel wrong and guilty. He slows down just before he reaching the door to DJ’s office, because he doesn’t want to scare Harry again. When he knocks gently on the door frame, they both look up. Harry looks away as soon as he meets Louis’ eyes and DJ’s annoyed.

Louis doesn’t say anything, just holds his hand forward with the little bit of hair in the center of his palm. Louis turns and leaves as soon as DJ takes it.

“His hearing is that good?” Harry asks. Louis’ lying on his bed.

“At full strength, he can hear our hearts beating, our muscles flexing, our eyes blinking,” she says at full volume, but begins to mutter under her breath in Latin while holding a small eight-pointed black stone.

“Oh.” Harry changes his breathing pattern. It feels forced, unnatural. Because he knows Louis can hear him.

It’s quiet, besides DJ’s murmuring, for long enough that when DJ says, “Okay, Harry,” it makes Harry jump a little. His heartbeat raises and he blushes.

He looks up to DJ’s hands. Louis focuses on his bond with Harry.

“This will take away what he did?” Louis can see what Harry sees: the black stone, suspended on a silver chain necklace.

DJ nods. “It will work immediately to block any future Glamours, but it will take at least a month to reverse the past ones. Especially if they occurred more than a couple days ago.”

Harry nods. “You said it wouldn’t be easy. This seems easy enough to do.”

“Honey, vampire mind control is no joke. It creeps in between the cracks of your mind, like a weed. It doesn’t leave willingly, and it will be emotionally and physically taxing. Louis’ cooperation will most likely help with that, though. Usually, vampires are not so willing to relinquish their control of their humans.”

She sounds proud of Louis. It’s a strange feeling, to have even the slightest amount of praise after all he’s done. He doesn’t deserve it. 

Harry shivers, probably unnerved at being referred to as Louis’ possession. “So how does it work?”

“This stone is geared toward Louis’ mind control. The specific magic used to erase Louis’ Glamour takes more energy so it is slightly less potent towards other vampires, but better than nothing. As long as you wear it, it will be actively working to pluck the weeds from your mind and block any future Glamours.”

Harry is in rapt attention. “Louis mentioned he gave me his blood and that’s how I didn’t die. Did that, like, do anything?”

She sighs, like she doesn’t want to disclose this, but she takes her own advice and does it anyway. “Yeah, there is a bond between you and Louis. I don’t think he realized given you his blood would create something like that; he’s still very young, comparatively. It’s mostly one way: he can see and feel what you see and feel whenever you think about him. This pendant will block that bond while you wear it.”

“Good,” Harry sighs exasperatedly. “First, he steals my memories, then my will, and now he’s stolen my private moments too?”

Louis opens his eyes, back in his room. DJ is right in assuming that he never knew that sharing blood would create a bond. He was just trying to fix his mistake. He was just trying to save Harry. He digresses; that doesn’t change the fact that he did violate Harry’s private thoughts and actions. He curls into a ball under his blankets, trying not to listen to the conversation downstairs and instead focuses on the sounds of cars driving on the road, on the rats above his ceiling, of the sound of the building creaking in the cold.

A few minutes later, the dinging of the front door being opened jolts Louis back to his bedroom. He assumes Harry has the necklace on. Even though he knows he shouldn’t, he tries to see if DJ is as good as she seems. When he tries to reach out to Harry—he can’t. There isn’t a fuzzy, out-of-focus image of Harry walking down the sidewalk, there’s just…nothing. As if Harry doesn’t even exist at all.

.::.::.

Months go by. Time is long and stretched out and doesn’t feel right. DJ tells him that’s because his heart hurts, but Louis knows it’s not that. Most days, it’s the guilt that weighs down the hands of the clock.  
It’s mid-March and still cold, but the weather app says it’ll be sunny so today seems as good a day as any to test out the pendant that DJ gave him. It’s an eight-pointed stone of green and brown and shines metallic red in certain light, and it’s supposed to protect him from the sun—but just for a couple hours, depending on how strong the UV rays are. She’d told him to wear it so it could get used to his body and how his systems work before actually using it. That was three weeks ago and he hasn’t had the will to go outside until today.

He stares at his phone while lying in bed, between sheets Harry had slept in. Before really thinking it through, he texts Harry: _i’ll be at the ferris wheel today at noon. don't ask how—i’ll be there. i’d love it if you came, but i understand completely if you can’t. or won’t._

Louis doesn’t have much hope that Harry will show up or even respond to his text. He didn’t respond to the Happy Birthday Text Louis had sent last month, so why would he waste the time to reply to this, let alone actually show up?

When he steps outside, it feels like he’s in another world. He’d forgotten how colors looked in natural light; everything is so bright and warm and glowing. It hurts his eyes, but he doesn’t care. He wishes he could share this with Harry, but he’s also glad for the time to soak it all in without anyone taking note. And, after six years, he thinks he’s warranted some alone time with daylight.

By the time he makes it down to the ferris wheel, the sun has actually come out from behind the clouds. The cold doesn’t bother him, but he tries not to dwell on the fact his breath doesn’t billow out in puffs of white as much the other people standing in line with him to buy tickets. He doesn’t really have the money for it, but he buys one for Harry, too. He waits until one o’clock, but when there’s no sign of long hair or green eyes, Louis leaves Harry’s ticket at the ticket booth with the hope he’ll eventually show up.

Louis ends up getting a pod all to himself and enjoys how warm it is behind metal walls and glass windows. It’s like he’s in a floating greenhouse, except nothing inside is alive or innocent in the beautiful way plants are. Louis shakes away the thought and stares out over the water, past the sail boats and past the sun glinting off waves. From this high up, Louis can see several different islands covered in evergreen trees and past them, on the horizon, he can see the snowy tops of the Olympics. He imagines, if he wasn’t a vampire and if Harry were beside him, Harry would be pointing to the blotches of land, naming the islands with an excited smile painted on his face, far more enchanting than the unbelievable landscape.

Louis looks down at the small crowd of people and doesn’t see the face he’s looking for. He thinks, maybe, if Harry doesn’t come that he can try to be okay. Maybe he can learn to be happy on his own. He thinks it could be possible, he just doesn’t want that to be his reality. Not when he’d gotten so used to dimpled cheek kisses and the soft drag of Harry’s hair on his skin. Not after he created his own reality, his own shimmering world beneath a dark and bloody past. But he thinks he might be able to try.

He watches the people standing in line and listens to the seagulls squawk over scraps of food and he almost misses a head of loose curls pass behind the ticket both. Louis gets butterflies as he watches Harry walk out on the other side of the booth, looking around the growing crowd. He wants to yell to get Harry’s attention, but he finally looks up to the swaying pods on the ferris wheel, eyes squinting behind sunglasses. Louis stands, moving closer to the window, waving and rocking the pod back and forth in hopes Harry can see that it’s him and he’s here waiting. That he’s here and didn’t leave.

Harry stares up for a long time, with a hand shielding the sun from his face. He’s wearing DJ’s pendant _and_ the pearl necklace Louis got him. He stares up for so long that he has to know it’s Louis. He has to. But it’s like he knows it’s him, but he’s having second thoughts about coming here today. Louis half expects him to turn and leave when a slow smile spreads on Harry’s lips. He holds up a hand in quiet hello.

There’s a moment where Louis feels time doesn’t matter. Not in the way he used to believe, but in the way that no time could be enough. No amount of time with this human could ever be enough. So he holds up his own hand, pressing it against the glass, and he hopes it’s enough. He hopes Harry understands his promise: that he’s here, and he won’t leave, as long as Harry’s heart is beating, as long as there’s a chance for them. But for now all he can do is trust in this moment, that time is on their side.

.::.

Louis’ feet are hanging off the edge of the boardwalk. Harry is sitting beside him, legs dangling and arms folded on the wooden railing in front of him. Water laps at the algae covered supports down below and Louis welcomes the sound. He breathes in the scent of salt and fish and Harry’s blood and breath.

“I’ve missed you,” Louis says. He knows it’s cliché and that he should probably say other things and ask questions, but right now that feels like the only words his mouth can form.

Harry looks up from the water to glance at him. People pass by behind, family walking to or from the aquarium or the many shops along the boardwalk. Harry’s eyes look even more green in the sunlight. He clears his throat. “I waited a month, like DJ had said.”

Louis nods, waiting for him to continue. Harry looks forward, watching the ferry leave the terminal ahead of them. The waves lick the the sides and splash up and over back on themselves.

“So I waited. But I wasn’t sure if it had worked, so I waited some more.” His eyebrows furrow and he pulls at a hangnail. “I’m still not positive what I’m feeling is real. None of this seems real.”

Louis nods again. He knows a thing or two about the unreal. He doesn’t know if he should say something, if it’s okay to try to explain himself. Or, maybe he lost the right to explain himself when he put Harry in danger and took away his memories.

When Harry doesn’t say anything more, Louis chances a reply. “What _are_ you feeling?”

The sounds of puttering feet on hollow ground fills in the silence before Harry speaks. He shrugs, sighing. “I feel… confused. I remember everything from that night. I remember the way the light left your eyes and there was nothing but malevolence.” He shudders. He doesn’t look sideways at Louis and he’s glad because he doesn’t want to see that kind of fear in Harry’s eyes. Not again. “I also remember when you held me and I held you because we weren’t ready to talk about our family shit. I remember the way you looked at me when I was there to catch you before you fell when you had a fever. And I also remember how you looked lost, staring into a pot of popcorn kernels. I remember all these things, but I’m scared I’ll only be able to see that kind of darkness in your eyes when I look at you.”

Louis blinks. That’s what he’s scared of, too. “I know it doesn’t make it okay, but that’s why I didn’t want to tell you. I didn’t want you to see me as I _was_ , I wanted you to see who I had become.” He takes a deep breath in. “I finally had someone and something that was real. After living in darkness and death for seven years, your kind of lightness was jarring and surreal and everything I didn’t know I wanted.”

Harry chances a look at Louis’ eyes. He waits, like he’s making sure there’s no hint of something hiding beneath the surface. “I want to believe you, I do. But it’s hard.” He spins the black stone DJ enchanted for him on the chain. “Even with this, I still don’t know if I can trust you or my feelings when it comes to you.”

Louis thinks that’s probably fair. He’d probably feel the same way, if he were in Harry’s shoes. But that doesn’t make it easier to bear. He clears his throat. “Okay.”

Harry turns to stare at the water. There’s a breeze and it gently brushes Harry’s hair off his shoulders and neck. Louis can see the faintest marks of two small scars in the middle of Harry’s neck, the barely-there proof that Louis almost killed him. It’s fair that Harry can’t trust him, that there’s probably nothing left for him here. Louis forgets his silent promise to be here as long as Harry’s heart is beating, because Harry doesn’t want him to stay or to lurk around his shadow. He’d probably feel better if Louis left. He thinks, he might be able do that, if it’s what Harry really wants.

Louis watches the waves move and turn under the sun. He’s glad he got to spend at least part of a sunny day with Harry. He figures it’s the closest he’ll ever get to seeing Harry in the dead of summer, glimmering and tanned and beautiful. “I’ll put in my notice and can be gone from here in a couple weeks.” He shrugs. “It’s about time I move on, anyway. Give you time and space.”

Harry turns to him, searching his face for… something, Louis isn’t sure what. But his eyes move over his face and he looks conflicted. Like he can’t decide if he wants to tell Louis to stay or to go and never come back.

He starts quiet and unsure at first. “I meant what I said: I’m not sure if I can trust you or myself when it comes to you,” Harrys says. He looks down at the water and the reflection makes the lights of his eyes quiver and wave. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to try.”

Louis takes a breath, and then another. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up, because this could still end with him leaving this place with nothing. He wants to tell himself that he won’t be worse off than when he arrived here, but he knows that’s not true. It’s like when you take a pill for the pain, and when the pain comes back after being gone for so long, it brings you to your knees. He’s had a taste of what this side of life is like, and he can’t just go on without it. 

Louis smiles and holds out his hand, palm up. He doesn’t know if Harry will take it, if he’s ready for his touch now that he knows what these hands have done. Louis has spent so long never reaching out because there was no one to reach to. He doesn’t want to live that way. He doesn’t want to live out of reach or in the shadows. When Harry takes his hand, the warmth of his skin reminds Louis that, maybe, he doesn’t have to, anymore.

.::.::.::.::.

It’s full-on summer and Louis is okay with being in love. Harry has taken him to the lake he talked about all those months ago, the one his sister took him to. They’re on the far side at an old dock, away from all the people swimming between floating buoys. The water is still and the sun is bright and the evergreen trees rustle in the small breeze and it smells like sin and wonder.

Louis’ still not used to how blinding it is being out under the sun but he loves the way Harry’s hair glints gold at just the right angle. He’s in boxer briefs and beckoning Louis to join him out on the dock. Louis feels like maybe he’s been here before, but he doesn’t know how. 

“Louis. You haven’t swam under the sun for six years and you’re seriously just sitting on your towel?” Harry asks, arms hanging at his sides like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. “C’mon!”

Louis rolls his eyes. But he’s smiling. He stands and the smile that breaks across Harry’s face is astounding. Louis holds up his hands in truce. “Okay, okay. I’m up, I’m up.”

Harry turns and runs toward the end of the dock. Just before he reaches the end, he looks back over his shoulder and smiles at Louis, dimples deep, then jumps, legs splayed and hair wild, into still lake water. The trees on the horizon seem silhouetted and far away as the splash shoots up and patters back down on the lake’s surface.

The memory. The memory Louis saw the night he and Harry met wasn’t actually a memory at all. This is what he saw. This moment. He thinks another version of himself wouldn’t believe that, but another version of himself wouldn’t have believed in vampires or witches either. Maybe not even love. So, really, maybe visions of the future aren’t too far from the realm of possibility. He’s long since stopped trying to figure out how the world works and why things happen the way they do. All he knows now is that he’s happy. And it’s possible that all the shitty things that lead up to this and now and here at the edge of this glimmering lake, maybe they were all part off the plan.

Louis takes off his shorts and runs toward the water. He slows for a moment, wondering if it’s possible that it wasn’t _their_ future he saw, only _Harry’s_ , because he never saw himself jump in the water after him. Then again, the person he was when he met Harry isn’t who he is know. _That_ Louis would never be here, under the sun and in love. It’s possible that he didn’t see himself because, at the time, he wasn’t a part of this future yet. He accepts that he might never understand any of this and he thinks that he could learn to be okay with that. 

He speeds up, running faster toward the end of the dock and jumps, holding tight to the pendant around his neck and even tighter to his belief in the impossible. Maybe, he decides as his head plunges under the surface, he can make his own future for once.

.::.::.::.::.

There’s a cool breeze in the late August afternoon. The deciduous trees aren’t changing colors just yet, but their branches seem to shiver and quake like they want to rid themselves of their leaves and be free. Louis wishes he could just shake and shed all his dead parts too, and be reborn into something better, someone he used to be. But he knows he can’t. He fiddles with the pendant around his neck with his right hand while the other squeezes Harry’s hand.

“Louis,” Harry says in a low voice. 

“Yeah?”

Harry squeezes his hand. “They’ll get used to it. They’re your family. It’ll be okay.”

Louis tries to focus on the steady rhythm of Harry’s heartbeat. He can feel it beat against his palm. It’s calming in a way he never thought a human heart could be. He breathes. “I left them seven and a half years ago. I’m a vampire and they think I’m dead. I think it might be more complicated than that, babe.” He smiles up at Harry in a way that is meant to reassure him into thinking Louis’ okay but it does the opposite and Harry’s eyes look sad, but hopeful.

“Do you want me to knock for you?” Harry asks. It’s kind that he offers, but really, Louis needs to do this. 

He shakes his head, not trusting his voice to reply. He sighs deeply, letting go of his pendant to raise his knuckles to the door. He knocks three times, each one reverberating through his bones. He feels like he can’t breathe. He’s scared. 

“Now what?” he asks Harry.

Before Harry can answer there are footsteps inside and Louis hears young voices and he smiles even though he feels like he’s about to pass out. He hadn’t been listening before, because he had been focusing on not spying on them, so now that they’re right here right behind the door, Louis can’t think of anything else. 

There’s a young face that appears behind the door as it swings open. It’s a girl, maybe thirteen or fourteen years old. Louis would know those eyes anywhere. 

“My little flower,” he almost whispers. 

Her face is slack and staring at him. Probably trying to remember if he always looked like this or if she’d just forgotten after so long. A voice calls from within the house, “Daze, who is it?” It’s his mother and Louis doesn’t know if he can face her. He wants to turn and leave, but Harry’s hand is strong and his stance firm beside him. His heartbeat mingles with Daisy’s and another as his mother walks closer to the door. 

She stands behind Daisy, pulling open the door fully to see who’s standing on her porch. She looks surprised and confused. “Louis?”

Harry swallows and squeezes Louis’ hand as if to give him the courage to speak, as if to remind him he’s here and this is really happening. That he’s standing on the porch of his childhood home and seeing his sister and mother for the first time in over seven years. 

“Hi, mom,” he says and it feels like an ending of sorts. Or maybe, it’s just the beginning of a new kind of future.

**Author's Note:**

> there's a line at the end that says "smells like sin and wonder" and it's from the song "fifteen" by chela !!!
> 
> thanks so much for reading!!! i love you all
> 
> also on a fun note, [here are some pics i took from kerry park a few years back](http://harrysmol.tumblr.com/post/160060345830/views-of-seattle-wa-from-kerry-park)! mt rainier is honestly amazing i love it so much


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